The Undoing
by inkkit
Summary: "Don't deny your humanity, Tom. Give your heart a chance. Your mind is lost to cold reason. Only your heart can melt your steely resolve." When Hermione decides to pursue the greater good, she unwittingly enters a forbidding world of hatred.
1. A Glitch in Time

Hey everyone! So, this is my first Hermione/Tom M. Riddle Jr. fanfic. I've tried to write a Draco/Hermione fanfic, but I hit a major writer's block and kind of gave up. I'm really upset about that because I actually felt good about the story. Oh, well. Maybe one day I'll finish it. But don't worry. This story won't be a lost case. I promise :) I've plotted it all out. This is kind of like a trial run. I just want to see what the response to the story is so that I know if I should bother writing the rest of it out. In case you haven't noticed, yes, I'm hinting on people reviewing :) Please, please, please!!

I hope you guys enjoy it. I know the whole 'Hermione gets stuck in the past with Tom / can Hermione change Tom for the better' theme is kind of overused, but I really put effort into making this story dark and intense. It won't be all 'happy-go-lucky, Tom is such a sweetheart from the start' fanfic. Tom is not a good person. He's totally evil in my story, so bad that at first that you'll probably hate him. But that's okay. I guarantee that overtime you'll appreciate just how dark I made him. It will take time for him to develop and change as a person. I really tried to stay true to Tom's power hungry dark side. I put a lot of effort into developing Tom's character and capturing the young Voldemort's essence. And as for Hermione, well, she's really passionate in this story. She faces a lot of horrible ordeals, but she's a real trooper. Hopefully you'll come to love the compassionate little bookworm even more.

So, yeah. Sorry for rambling but I just want you to know that this is an angst-filled drama/romance.

*Caution*: Not for the faint of heart

*Contains*: sex, rape, violence, etc. I won't forewarn you before each chapter, just know now what you're getting yourself into. You've been warned!!

Disclaimer: No I don't own Harry Potter…although I wish I did… :(

Read and Review!!!! :)

1. A Glitch in Time

Hermione could no longer feel anything. She was utterly numb. The unforgiving vengeance of Voldemort's Death Eaters was unrelenting. After being captured by Dolohov one month ago, she had endured excruciating torture. Day after day, and night after night they would come, each masked monster taking his turn to curse her and beat her. Of course, Hermione never complained. She could endure the beatings and the cruciatus curse, so long as they didn't take away her dignity.

She thanked Merlin every day that none of the Death Eaters had raped her yet. But she could see the lust in their eyes as she would convulse on the cold ground of her cell under their cruciatus, her nipples, hardened by the dungeons dank chill, pointing through the thin fabric of the torn and bloody chemise she wore that barely covered her bum.

Hermione didn't know what time it was when Lucius Malfoy arrived at her cell. She paid him no mind as she continued to lie, shivering on the now familiar filth ridden stone floor of her cell.

"Get up Mudblood," he demanded, giving her a rough kick in the ribs. Hermione gasped and curled her knees up to her chest, trying to protect her already broken ribs from further assault. "The Dark Lord has requested your presence. Come on, get up you worthless piece of filth."

Lucius grabbed a fistful of her hair, lifting her to her knees before him. She screamed, trying in vain to release herself from his grasp. He yanked harder and Hermoine stumbled to her feet.

She shuddered as Lucius leaned close to her ear, running a clammy hand up her exposed thigh, and pressing the palm of his hand to the unmentionable heat between her legs. She gasped and tried to back away. Lucius growled and licked her earlobe, holding her firmly against his chest. "That wasn't so hard now was it, Mudblood?"

Hermione swallowed, afraid to speak. They had taken her wand away and she knew from experience that speaking against any of the Death Eaters usually resulted in imminent torture. She bit her lip as his index finger pressed upward poking her entrance through her underwear. She felt hot tears stream down her face. Lucius had never touched her like this before and she prayed to Merlin that he wouldn't rip off her panties and take her virginity right there, up against the cold stone wall.

She sighed a breath of relief as he abruptly withdrew his hand from her panty-clad crotch. "Let's get going. We must not make the Dark Lord wait any longer."

Hermione couldn't help but think that he sounded like an obedient two year-old. It was a useless thought but it provided her with a momentary lift of spirits. Judging by Lucius' seriousness it might be one of her last thoughts. As she made the fateful trek to Voldemort's chamber she indulged herself by thinking back on all the joys her short life of seventeen years had brought her: great friends, wonderful parents, incredible journeys, trials and happiness, love and grief. Her whole life she had been blessed, but despite the fact that she knew her life had been fulfilling, she still wasn't prepared to face death. In fact, she didn't understand how anyone could be fully prepared for death.

Lucius dragged her borderline lame body down indistinguishable corridors. Her head began to spin as she attempted to keep track of each and every turn. She soon gave up as she figured it was pointless, she wouldn't leave the chamber once the door closed behind her. Suddenly they came to a jolting stop and Hermione felt her stomach drop. The door before her was made of shiny black wood and one large, foreboding silver doorknob was placed in its centre, a silver snake statuette coiled around the knob. Lucius turned the knob and the door clicked open. He pushed her in ahead of him and she nearly stumbled to the ground. She was just barely able to stay on her feet. The end had come far too quickly and she was scared of what would happen in the next few minutes.

The room she was in was disorienting. The floor and ceiling were made of black wood floorboards. And the walls were painted an intoxicatingly rich emerald green. Hermione felt as though she was walking on the ceiling. The only way she could decipher that she was right side up was due to the large oak throne placed at the end of the room. And in the chair sat Lord Voldemort himself.

His snakelike face, in particular his crimson eyes, bore through her with such intensity she accidentally cowered back, and into Lucius. Chuckling softly, Lucius slipped his hand up her shirt, running his fingers along the band of her underwear. She pushed his hand away and earned a slap. Her legs, sore and trembling from sheer exhaustion and pain couldn't manage to hold her steady and she fell to her hands and knees before Voldemort.

Hermione blinked back tears. She felt humiliated and ashamed. She kept her eyes on the floor and saw her reflection looking back at her on its polished surface. Her hair was matted with blood and wild. Her eyes had dark bruises beneath them, her lips were swollen and cut, her cheek sliced, her forehead bruised, her neck covered in hickies from the Death Eaters. Slowly Hermione raised her head and met Voldemort's icy glare. His long, pasty white fingers curled around the arms of his chair as he pushed himself to his feet. From the floor, his height was extremely intimidating. She weakly crawled to her feet. She would not cower at his feet. She met his gaze full on.

Voldemort laughed as he approached the broken girl. When his Death Eaters had first brought her to him she had been a fierce little thing, full of life and wilfulness to live. Now she was weak and all the life had been sucked out of her leaving her completely dull and lifeless. She was the shell of an empty girl. He felt gratified as he gloated from his personal accomplishment of ruining Potter's little friend's spirit.

"What -," Hermione paused, catching her breath, "what do you want… from me?"

Voldemort approached the girl. He was repulsed by her filthy blood and alliances with the Order. He would enjoy every moment of her pain; he would bask in it.

Hermione struggled for breath. She felt light headed as Voldemort walked around her, appraising her. She could feel the iciness of his deathly glare. She began to tremble as he stopped behind her, his foul breath whispering across her neck and ear.

"I want nothing more from you," he said in a hushed whisper, "then to watch you suffer." His long fingers were like whispers against her neck. Hermione swallowed back bile as he slipped both of his hands under her shirt lifting up her hem so that everything below her belly button was revealed to him and Lucius. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Lucius licking his lips. She wished she had more then just underwear and a short shirt on. She felt so vulnerable in her undress. He could so easily destroy her, she realized. He could tear her apart from the inside out. She firmly closed her eyes, wishing it all away, as Voldemort's cold hands cupped her breasts, jostling them and pinching her nipples.

"It's such a shame your circumstances of birth are against you. You're such a pretty thing." Hermione opened her eyes again and caught her breath as he removed his hands from her breasts and stepped away. Without further warning, Voldemort unleashed what was possibly the most vicious cruciatus even he had ever been witness to.

She screamed under the Dark Lord's merciless wrath. She collapsed to the ground, convulsing and twisting from pain. Her vision was spotted with blinding white lights. She didn't stop screaming until the agonizing grip over her body ceased. She lay motionless on the cool ground, sweat beading her forehead, her brain pounding in her ears like ocean waves, and her body shaking uncontrollably.

She had barely any time to get her bearings back before Lucius yanked her to her feet. If he hadn't been holding her up by the scruff of her neck she would have fallen back to the ground.

"Look at me, Mudblood," came the evil voice.

Hermione weakly lifted her chin to look at the Dark Lord through half closed, bruised eyelids. His wand was lifted, pointed steadily at her chest. She felt damp all of a sudden and glanced down at her body. Her shirt was starting to soak with blood. Hermione lifted her shirt, not caring anymore if the men saw her. There was a long, deep gash across her stomach that was bleeding profusely. She realised that Voldemort had probably silently cast a fatal curse that would lead to her death through blood loss, unless he killed her first.

When she looked back up, Voldemort had an evil grin on his face. "You're going to die, Mudblood. No one can save you."

Hermione just looked at him through hollow eyes. She wasn't going to go out without getting one last chance to put her two cents in. "Well, I suppose people lied when they said you were merciless." Voldemort's eyes narrowed at her, his wand wavered for a moment in confusion, "Here I am, a Mudblood, desiring death above all, and there you are, the Dark Lord, mercifully prepared to grant me peace and relief."

Hermione would have smirked at his look of distaste and fury, but she could hardly feel the muscles in her face.

"You insolent fool!" Voldemort's nostrils flared in anger as he raised his wand and began to chant the unforgivable curse. This was it, Hermione thought. It was the end. She knew death was her only escape from this torment, but she couldn't deny the fact that she felt afraid of the unknown, afraid to face this alone.

"Avada K-," Voldemort's incantation came to a halt as a blinding light flashed through the small room. Hermione pressed her palms to her ears as a piercing crack and wailing erupted from the source of light. It was getting larger and larger before them. Lucius and Voldemort had backed away from the light. A sudden wave of nausea and light headedness washed over Hermione, disorienting her. The ringing and wailing was intensifying and Hermione found she could no longer distinguish the room around her. Her head felt an overpowering pressure and her eyes rolled back into her skull as she lost consciousness and tumbled forward into the pulsing light. Her last decipherable thought was the image of the forest outside of Hogwarts.

***

Tom pulled his black cloak tighter around his broad shoulders as he manoeuvred through the Forbidden Forest. The late September chill was seeping through the thin cotton of his cloak. He cursed himself for not bringing another sweater. He pulled his hood over his head, shielding his face from the biting wind. It was well past midnight. So many things were happening in his life of recent and he had needed the time alone to clear his muddled head. Attempting to become the most powerful wizard in the world and achieving the level of magical skill that he was aiming for took a lot of toiling work and lately he had found himself without energy and utterly exhausted. But it would all be worth it.

Tom ran a hand through his jet black hair, beneath his hood. He was nearing the edge of the Forbidden Forest when a low humming was carried to his ears on the wind. He could have sworn he could feel an electric current pulsing through the darkened woods.

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. Normally he would have been more than eager to go and check out the source of the humming, it was well known that ancient and powerful magic would sometimes occur in the Forbidden Forest. After seven years of attending Hogwarts, Tom mostly knew that good and the bad about the foreboding woods.

All of a sudden, an unexpected flash of bright light momentarily lit up the dark forest, before reducing to a small pulsing light somewhere in the distance. The force of the light knocked Tom backwards into a tree, rendering him momentarily breathless.

"What in bloody hell?" he muttered, rubbing his now sore back. He was about to dismiss this strange occurrence but his interest had now been thoroughly piqued. He wasn't about to let an experience like this pass him by. This light could be the source of new and powerful magic. He wasn't going to miss out on this opportunity.

Tom started to run frantically through the trees, praying that the light would last long enough for him to figure it out. He was almost there, only a hundred feet more. His heart started to beat profusely in his chest. Fifty feet more feet and then…nothing. Tom jolted to an abrupt stop. The light had vanished, simply dematerialised out of thin air. Frustration coursed through his veins. Damn it! If there was one thing he absolutely despised, it was failing.

Kicking a loose stone on the forest floor in anger, Tom started to walk away, defeated. He had taken three steps when he heard it: a soft moan; a girl's moan. It was barely discernable but it was definitely a moan. Tom stopped, not entirely sure what to do. He knew very well that chances were that was no girl moaning but some dangerous beast trying to lure him to his death. Tom chuckled, he never shied away from a challenge and he of all people would be able to defend himself.

Tom began to walk towards where he thought the moan had come from. He knew the forest well and did not stumble once over exposed roots or lose stones. He spent the next five minutes searching for the source of the moan. He was about to give up when his heart skipped at the sight of a bare, pale, dirty foot extending from behind the tree. Tom had seen a lot of treacheries and horrors in his time, but he wasn't so sure he wanted to see what was attached to the foot, if anything. Oh suck it up, he scolded himself. You are _Lord Voldemort_. Act like him.

Mustering his courage, Tom walked towards the foot. He swallowed back his surprise to see a young girl, half clothed and battered lying face down on the damp ground. He was momentarily at a loss for what to do. He had half a mind to walk away and pretend he had never witnessed this. He was a cold-hearted monster anyway, he was used to walking away from victims, that is, walking away from _his _victims. He didn't know the woman and therefore he had no grudge against her, so did that mean he should help her?

For once Tom was undecided as to what course of action to take. He carefully knelt down beside the unconscious girl. He ignored the dampness from the moist earth that was seeping into the knees of his dress pants. Being a seventeen year-old boy, he couldn't help but admire the girl's body. The thin chemise she was wearing had ridden up past her waist exposing her smooth back, shapely bum, thighs and calves. His stomach fluttered with an unrecognizable desire. He grimaced as he took note of all the bruises on her body. Gingerly he slipped his hand beneath her stomach to turn her face up. He easily rolled her over, her head falling limply to the side.

She was incredibly pale in the moonlight. Her lips were swollen and bleeding and large bruises graced her cheekbones, collar, forehead and eyes. She also had several scratches on her cheeks and neck. Her neck… Tom's eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to inspect the small red spots covering her neck. They were hickies he realized. There must have been at least a dozen. Tom's mind was ablaze with hundreds of thoughts. Had the girl been raped? Abused by a boyfriend? Assaulted by a stranger? Found by an enemy? He found himself intrigued by the mysterious girl.

Tom had been too busy analysing her face to notice that the front of her shirt was stained with blood, but when he did he felt momentarily nauseous. Who would have done this to her? He carefully lifted her chemise, revealing a perfectly flat stomach. A large, but calculated gash graced the soft flesh of her stomach. Tom winced as he inspected the deep wound. She was losing a lot of blood. Upon closer inspection of the wound he realized it was a curse used by dark wizards. The curse's purpose was to gravely cut a victim causing an extreme loss of blood that would lead to imminent death. The curse could be undone by anyone but the victim. Tom knew this because, well, he had experimented with this kind of magic before.

He quickly cast the counter curse and the wound closed, leaving her stomach covered in blood but no longer bleeding. Without thinking any further and wasting precious time he scooped the girl up into his arms. Her head fell limply over his arm, her busy brown hair, matted with blood he realized, bounced ever so slightly. She hardly had any life left in her that was for sure. He apparated to the Hospital Wing. Headmaster Dippet would no doubt question him about why he was out so late that night, but he would come up with a good excuse. And as for the mysterious light in the forest – which he was certain had brought the young girl here – that would remain his secret.

Throwing open the doors to the Hospital Wing, Tom let out a bellow for help, awakening the nurse and possibly the rest of the castle.

***

Hermione was painfully aware of an overwhelming ache coursing through her entire body. Was she truly alive or was she in some kind of purgatory? She couldn't recall anything. The only thing she could firmly say she was certain of was that her name was Hermione Granger and she had been about to die at the end of Voldemort's wand. Had she died at the end of his wand?

Focusing on her limbs she realized that she couldn't move them. She willed herself to open her eyes but found that she couldn't open them either. _Come on_, she urged herself. After a few more attempts at urging her eyes opened she succeeded. She winced as they began to burn. The air was cold and the room around her was dim. Where was she?

Concentrating all of her strength on her muscles she pulled herself into a sitting position. Her head began to spin and she had to hold her thighs to prevent herself from toppling over. Apparently she was still alive. That was good, wasn't it? Taking deep breaths, Hermione calmed the throbbing in her head. She had to figure out where she was and how she had gotten there. Trying her best to ignore the agonizing aching in her body, Hermione started to observe her surroundings. She was back to being the ever sensible Hermione.

She was sitting on a thin white cot with fresh white sheets. Despite the dim lighting in the room – she could tell by the windows that it was nighttime outside – Hermione was able to distinguish several similar cots lining both sides of the long room. A sense of déja vue swept over her. Was it possible that she was back at Hogwarts, and currently in the Hospital Wing? How was that even likely? No one would have rescued her, all of her friends thought she was dead.

After racking her mind for any memory that might help her understand her circumstances better she finally was able to recall one particular event: a blinding flash. Right as Voldemort was uttering the incantation that would kill her, there had been a bright light, like a small sun of sorts that had materialized in the room. She still didn't know what relevance that had to where she was now.

Hermione was determined to figure out exactly what had happened and how she had escaped her untimely death. She carefully swung her legs over the edge of the bed, attentive so as not to move too quickly and cause dizziness. She put all her weight on her feet and clutched the cot's edge as her legs trembled with exhaustion. She was wearing a short cream coloured hospital gown that went up to her knees. She took one step forward when a chilling voice came from one of the darkest corners of the room. Hermione froze mid step, suddenly afraid.

"Where do you think you're going?" The voice was deep, masculine and threateningly composed.

Hermione swallowed, squinting into the darkness, trying to spot the intruder. "Who – who are you?" she asked shakily, leaning back against the cot.

A figure slowly emerged from the shadows, leisurely approaching her. "That doesn't matter," replied the boy. For she could now see that he was a boy her age. The boy continued to approach her until he was a mere five feet away. His was holding his hands behind his back, his head tilted a bit to the side in a thoughtful pose. He was very tall and in great shape, with broad shoulders and what appeared to be a lithe body, not ridiculously muscular but built all the same. His face was slightly obscured in the haunting darkness of the room, but as far as she could tell, the boy was rather pale, with slightly unkempt black hair and piercing black orbs. She couldn't put her finger on it but he seemed vaguely familiar. "Besides, I should be the one asking you that, considering you're the stranger and not I," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I -," Hermione paused, not knowing if she could trust this mysterious boy, who seemed more like an apparition than a flesh and blood human. There was something about his aura that screamed danger and menace. "Where am I?" she asked, deciding to avoid the name question for a bit.

The boy's handsome face remained emotionless as he waited a moment before responding. "You're in the Hospital Wing at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Hospital Wing…" she repeated, dumbfounded. How was that possible? Who was this guy? And what did he mean by stranger? If anything he was the stranger. She had never seen him before at school.

The boy advanced another step. Hermione stepped away, her back pressing to the infirmary's cold stone wall. Her eyes darted around for her wand, but then she realized that the Death Eaters had confiscated it.

"Your wand isn't here," the boy said, his voice betraying no emotions. It was as though he could read her mind. "Perhaps you care to explain why you were half undressed, battered, bruised and nearly dead when I found you in the Forbidden Forest two nights ago. And perhaps you would be so kind as to explain to me exactly what that blinding light that accompanied your appearance was."

Hermione blinked in disbelief. What was he talking about? She hadn't been anywhere near the Forbidden Forest. She pondered his icy words over in her head and found herself horrified that the ominous boy had found her in her state of undress, but also relieved that he had brought her to safety. She might have bled to death if he hadn't gotten her to the Infirmary. She unconsciously placed her hand over her stomach where she knew the fatal injury had been.

The boy's piercing gaze followed her hand and then lifted them back to meet her own gaze. "Yes. That was a nasty wound; the work of dark magic without a doubt. I must admit that I am curious about that too."

Hermione shook her and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Just – just stay away from me. I don't owe you any explanation. I don't even know you."

"There's gratitude for saving your life." The boy let out a dark chuckle before his voice became serious again. "That may be, but whether you willingly comply or not, I will find out the truth."

Hermione's fear was soon replaced by slight annoyance. Who did he think he was? How did he expect to know the truth if not even she knew what had happened? "Look, whoever you are. Not even I know what happened that night. I'm just as confused as you."

The boy's eyes narrowed and Hermione was shocked to see pure hatred glinting in his black eyes. He didn't believe her. Well, that was just too damned bad. And why was he acting as if she was a bad person for not knowing what that light was? Ass. The sun was starting to come up outside, casting the Hospital Wing in a light glow. Hermione felt somewhat relieved now that she could see the boy better. With any luck someone would come by to check on her.

She hadn't realized it before, but the boy was wearing a Hogwarts uniform, in particular, a Slytherin uniform, and on his emerald trimmed cape was a Head Boy pin. Hermione's confusion was getting the better of her and she placed her index and middle finger on her temple, gently rubbing the pulse point. Her vision began to blur before her eyes and the room suddenly began to spin around her. She tried to find a sense of balance but could not succeed in steadying her light-headedness. The last thing she remembered seeing before collapsing were two taunting, hate-filled black orbs.

***

Tom nimbly caught the fainting girl in his powerful arms before she could hit the floor. He scowled as he distastefully laid the fragile girl back on the hospital cot. Well that had been entirely unproductive. He hadn't been able to get even one fact from the girl. In fact, he was starting to think that she really had no idea what had happened to her. Pathetic. Useless. Weak. That was what the girl was to him if she could come up with no explanation for her strange appearance.

As he soundlessly stalked out of the Hospital Wing he realized that he hadn't had the chance to tell the girl not to mention the light to anyone. He hoped that she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

When Tom reached his private dormitory he spotted Antonin Dolohov lurking about, most likely waiting for him. Antonin grinned when he saw Tom approaching. "Hey, Tom. What are you up to so early in the morning?"

Tom, who disliked when his friends meddled in his personal affairs snapped back, "I could ask you the same thing."

Antonin chuckled in dark amusement. "Someone's touchy. Don't let being Head Boy get to your head. If you really want to know ,though, I spent the night with Anna Hellisburg. She's got incredible legs that one. The way they wrapped nice and tight around my waist, clenching with each -," Tom waved a hand in dismissal.

"Spare me the details, Antonin. I really don't want to hear it." It annoyed Tom how Antonin seemed to have a new conquest every other night. It was all he ever spoke about, and incredibly freely at that. He never missed an opportunity to recount in detailed description his 'experiences' with the promiscuous half of the female population. Personally, Tom didn't care what Antonin did in his spare time. It just frustrated him that he spent so much time studying and enhancing his skill with magic while his friends and so called 'followers' went about sleeping around, not truly caring about the cause he was working for: the obliteration of muggles and impure blood wizards, as well as becoming the most powerful wizard of all time.

"Are you jealous, Tommy?" Antonin taunted.

Tom glared daggers at Antonin who cowered at the sheer intensity of Tom's gaze. He hated it when his friends called him Tommy. He didn't care if they were teasing. Teasing was a sign of immaturity and a lack of seriousness. He couldn't handle people who acted infantile. He was so much better then them, so much more superior.

"I have a lot on my mind, so if you'll excuse me, Dolohov. I'll see you in class," Tom replied icily.

Antonin shrugged. "Suit yourself, Riddle."

***

Hermione woke up to a bright hospital room and immediately sat up, defensive, as the memory of dangerous black eyes rushed back to her. Looking around she could see no one. Relief washed over her. She hoped desperately that last night had been merely a dream – a nightmare. But deep in her heart she knew it had been real. That boy had come to her. He was real. Her eyes hadn't deceived her.

"You're awake! Finally! I thought you were never going to wake up. Out like a log you were. Dippet wanted me to call some specialist from St. Mungo's, but I told him, now you mark this, I've never given up on a patient, not even one battling death like you. I told him I'd get you out of this and I did, didn't I?"

Hermione watched as the petite elder lady skipped about, assembling several bottles of potions and lotions. She was wearing a nurse's outfit, much like the one Madame Pomfrey wore. She had curly grey hair streaked with white and had bright blue eyes and a kind smile. Hermione felt slightly unnerved as the unfamiliar woman beamed at her.

…Wait a second. Had she said Dippet? If she wasn't mistaken, Armando Dippet had been Headmaster at Hogwarts during the forties. Hermione cleared her throat, the frightening truth slowly coming into realization. "I, uh, I'm sorry. Did you say Dippet? As in Armando Dippet?" Hermione swallowed back her fear, hoping to Merlin she was wrong.

The nurse smiled and nodded. Hermione's stomach did a 360. "Yes. Indeed. Headmaster Dippet was very concerned when he was informed of your condition. If you don't mind my prying, dear, how _did_ you get such horrible injuries? We're all curious to know."

Hermione felt nauseous. This had to be some kind of sick joke. How could she have possibly travelled through time? None of this made sense, not even to the ever-brilliant Hermione Granger. She forced herself to recall every detail of those last few moments before and while the light had appeared back at Voldemort's headquarters. She had been about to die, but she had felt the terrible urge not to die. She had felt adrenaline rushing through her veins, her desire to live overpowering every other emotion and desire she'd ever felt before in her life. And then there had been that horrifying sense of dread that there was no escape from death. No. It didn't make any sense whatsoever. Few knew how to manipulate time, and she was absolutely certain that it hadn't been her doing. There had been some kind of glitch in time. It was the only reasonable explanation. It had been sheer coincidence that it had occurred just as she was facing death.

"Sweetie?"

Hermione looked up at the nurse. She had been completely tuned out. "What year is it?"

The nurse placed one delicate hand on the centre of her chest, taken aback by Hermione's odd question. "Why, 1944, of course. Are you feeling all right dear? Can I get you anything at all?"

Hermione shook her head, completely in shock. There was no denying it now. She was most definitely in the past. She was at Hogwarts in 1944.

Just then, the doors to the Hospital Wing swung open and Hermione had a second heart-stopping shock in five minutes. Although quite a bit younger and youthful looking in 1944, Hermione would have recognized her old wizened professor anywhere. "Professor Dumbledore?" she rasped, heart pounding with joy at seeing a familiar face and pounding with desperation now that she had more then enough solid proof to allow her to conclude that she was indeed in the past.

Dumbledore's long beard was a charcoal grey with flecks of white. His kind face was not as wrinkled as it was present day, before his death, but his bright blue eyes were just as vivid. "It is I," he replied kindly, his brow slightly furrowed, "although I do regret to not know you, child."

"I'm…Hermione Granger. I-," she wanted so badly to tell him everything about what had happened to her but she restrained herself. She would wait until all was settled. Besides, this Dumbledore did not know her and may not necessarily be able to help her. It was only in later years that Dumbledore truly became one of the most powerful wizards of all time. "I," Hermione quickly tried to think of something else to say. "Where did you find me?"

Dumbledore carefully sat down on the edge of her cot, creating a slight indent in the thin mattress. "One of our students found you in the Forbidden Forest." That would be the boy from last night. "You were found in a terrible state. Undressed, bleeding, bruised. I can't imagine what would have caused you to be in such a poor state."

It wasn't a direct question, but Hermione knew that Dumbledore was hoping for an answer as to how she came to be. Hermione glanced nervously at the nurse. Dumbledore followed her gaze.

"If it doesn't terribly bother you, Ms. Granger. I would like it if Madame Browncourt stayed. She needs to know exactly what happened to you so that she can make sure you are perfectly all right. Now I assure you, whatever you say to us stays between us. The only person I will be obliged to tell is the Headmaster Dippet, for he must know the circumstances of your arrival."

Hermione nodded slowly, delaying time in order to come up with an appropriately believable story. "Well, I, I'm an orphan, you see. I've been living on my own for several years now in America. I attended a small wizarding school there with the money left from my parents." Hermione racked her mind about what tale she could spin about being in England mid-September instead of being in school. "I came to England over the summer vacation to visit a sick friend. Things weren't going well so I decided to stay for another week or two. One night I went out to the corner store and these men, they were wizards, found me and cornered me in an alleyway. They started to beat me and, and…"

Hermione actually began to sob. She hated having to lie. The fact was the real truth was much harsher than her made up story. She wished she could tell someone what had truly happened to her, to let out all of her misery and fears. "Go on, dear," Madame Browncourt prodded gently, rubbing small circles around her back. Hermione took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

"They had taken my wand and I couldn't defend myself. They tried to undress me and I had to do something before it was too late so I apparated. You see, some girls at my old school had told me about this place saying it was the safest place in the wizarding world to be. I tried to picture the school in my mind but I guess I was a bit off and wound up in that forest."

Dumbledore met her gaze, appraising her story. Finally he gave a curt nod and smiled. "Well, then. I'm glad that nothing worse happened to you. Might I suggest that instead of you returning to America, though, you consider enrolling here at Hogwarts? I feel responsible for you. I want you to be under good care. The first semester has already begun but I'm sure you won't have any trouble catching up with the rest of the students. And if you do, you can always have peer tutoring. Being under eighteen and orphaned, the administration would cover all costs. We have several students under similar circumstances."

Hermione smiled. She was relieved that he had recommended she stay. If she couldn't get back to the present, or rather, the future (it was all so confusing), then the only place she wanted to be was at Hogwarts. It was the only home she knew. And perhaps when she felt settled she'd tell Dumbledore exactly what had happened. Perhaps together they'd figure out how to undo the glitch in time.

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I hope everyone liked it!!! I had fun writing it. I was never a fan of Hermione & Tom fanfics but after I gave it a try I realized that I liked the pairing if the chemistry between Hermione and Tom was realistic and authentic. I hope I succeeded in capturing the essence of Hermione and Tom!!

Please Review :)

Thanks!


	2. Remains a Mystery

Hey everyone! Thank you so much for all of the reviews! I can't believe that so many people reviewed. I was expecting maybe five or six reviews, but ten reviews, never! Anyway, I am eternally grateful for all of your comments, concerns and constructive criticism. For all of my reviewers, I will work exceptionally hard making this story genuine. I'm even more excited now to get this story up and running.

Just so you know, this story is mostly in Hermione's point of view, with some smaller sections in Tom's point of view. But just let me know if you want even more of Tom's point of view and less of Hermione.

Also, I'm trying to keep all the facts as accurate as possible. If you pick up on anything that's contradictory or that doesn't stay true to JK's world of Harry Potter, just let me know. I may not be able to fix it but I'd appreciate knowing.

Lastly, I'm not sure the exact year that Tom turned his diary into a Horcrux, nor am I sure when exactly Slughorn told Tom about Horcruxes. So, for the purpose of a more interesting storyline, I've decided that Tom has not yet created a Horcrux nor has Slughorn told him of Horcruxes yet.

Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own the magical world of Harry Potter. JK is the mastermind!

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2. Remains a Mystery

Hermione was relieved to have Dumbledore with her. Even though he didn't know her, he still supplied her with a level of comfort and familiarity. Over the next few hours – after Madame Browncourt had given her the OK to leave the Hospital Wing – Dumbledore had created a new schedule for her, ordered her wand, provided her with a uniform, and tried to get to know her as a person. She had been tempted on more then one occasion to start talking about the future. She had wanted to talk about Voldemort, about Harry, about his own death and the Horcruxes, but she had to constantly remind herself that he wouldn't know anything about the future. Not to mention it might be dangerous for him to know what was to come.

Presently, Dumbledore was showing her to her dormitory (she had been sorted into Gryffindor, of course). She followed him through the Fat Lady's portrait and up the familiar stairwell to the girl's dormitory. Hermione felt somewhat disoriented. Everything felt so recognizable, yet she was nearly sixty years in the past. Dumbledore paused outside the dormitory door. Hermione looked at him expectantly.

"Well then," he said kindly, "I'll leave you to it. Your trunks have been brought to your room. Once you've changed into your uniform you should head down to your third class of the day, which is," he flicked his wand and her schedule flew out of his pocket, "Potions". Hermione smiled. She loved Potions, for the most part. And if she was correct then her professor was none other then Horace Slughorn. He was a good-natured man. Dumbledore continued. "After Potions you'll have lunch and following lunch," he referenced the schedule again, "you have History of Magic and Transfiguration."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks, professor. I appreciate all of your help."

Dumbledore smiled congenially at her. "It was my pleasure. If you have any sort of trouble finding your class just ask one of the portraits. They'll be more then happy to assist you along."

Hermione mumbled quick thanks before retreating into the dormitory. Once again she was surprised by its likeness to her dorms sixty years in the future. As Hermione dressed into her Hogwarts uniform she couldn't help but smile. She wouldn't need any help getting to her classes. She knew the school like the back of her own hand.

Gathering her heavy Potions books into her arms, Hermione began to make the long trek down to the Dungeons where the class was held. Upon reaching the Dungeons she shivered from the familiar chill. She stopped abruptly outside the door to her Potions class. The class had only started about fifteen minutes ago. Nervously clutching her books tighter to her chest she pushed the already ajar door open. She winced as it creaked loudly on its hinges. Everyone's head turned to face the back of the class where Hermione stood quietly, a sense of dread slowly growing in the pit of her empty stomach. Slughorn had stopped lecturing and was appraising her too.

It was then that Hermione realized, due to the lack of a wand, she hadn't performed a concealment charm to hide the bruises and faint scars still healing on her face. She could hear the whispers now. People were talking about her, probably spreading inane rumours about how she had come to be at Hogwarts in such a state. Abusive boyfriend, abusive family, suicidal, you get the idea.

Hermione was incredibly relieved when a much younger looking, but still pudgy, Professor Slughorn finally spoke up. "Why hello there!" he said cheerily. "You must be our new student, Hermione Granger, yes?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she replied, her voice somewhat shaky. Slughorn, waddled up the aisle of desks and cauldrons towards her. When he was several feet away he paused and gave her a curious look.

"My dear, what happened to you?" he asked with genuine concern, and intrigue.

Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks as she lightly touched her bruised jaw. "I -," she was uncomfortably aware of the many curious eyes watching her, and attentive ears listening in the absolute silence of the classroom. "Where should I sit, Professor?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.

Slughorn looked a little startled but then nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes. Well, then." He looked about the classroom. Hermione looked around as well. The benches were arranged in threes around each cauldron. All of the benches were filled with three pupils each except for one cauldron where only two boys were seated. Slughorn finally seemed to notice the empty space for he clapped his hands together excitedly, his face noticeably brightening. "Well, isn't that practical. Young Tom and his partner are missing someone. Tom is an excellent student. He'll help you catch up. He'll answer any questions you have, I'm sure."

Hermione took a closer look at the two boys and felt her heart skip a beat. She instantly recognized one of them. Even though she had only ever seen him in the dark she could still tell that it was the disturbingly haunting boy from that night in the Hospital Wing. The one who had apparently found her in the Forbidden Forest. The mere fact that he had been wandering through the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night already told her he was a troublemaker. His brooding black orbs met her gaze and a cruel smirk graced his lips. Hermione shivered. She turned to Slughorn to protest, but he was already on his way back to the front of the class, a slight, jovial skip in his step. When he looked back at her and noticed her hesitancy he gave her an encouraging smile. "Go on, Ms. Granger. Don't be shy."

Slowly Hermione went to sit down beside the two boys. The 'Tom' boy sat in the middle and the fairer boy sat on his right side. Hermione quickly sat down as far away as possible from him on his left side. Hushed conversation ended as Slughorn continued his lecture on the potion they were to brew.

Hermione was ultra-aware of the boy's eyes watching her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"I feel that I should introduce myself to you. Since we already know your name, it's only fair that you know ours." Hermione carefully looked up at the boy sitting next to her, his eyes intent on hers. He made her feel helpless, threatened, like a lamb being preyed on by the voracious wolf. The black haired boy nodded to his companion. "This is Antonin Dolohov."

Hermione felt herself go pale as she did a double take on Tom's companion. Antonin Dolohov? _The_ Antonin Dolohov? The same Antonin Dolohov who had attacked Harry, Ron and herself only months ago at the café? Well techniquely sixty years in the future, but that was beside the point. She looked closely at the youthful face and immediately saw the similarity: the austere frosty green eyes and angular nose, yes, it was definitely the Antonin Dolohov of the future. Her fingers began to tremble as realization hit her.

The year was 1944, she reminded herself. Dolohov had been one of Voldemort's most trusted followers, one of his earliest followers from high school, in fact. Hermione swallowed the lump rising in her throat. The black haired boy had said his name was Tom. Could it be…? Hermione's thoughts were running wild in her head as all of the possibilities came flooding through.

"And I'm Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Bloody hell…

She was sitting with the future Lord Voldemort and a future blood thirsty Death Eater. Hermione felt sick to her stomach as Tom's gaze on her intensified. She had forgotten that Voldemort had once been a normal person. She appraised Tom. He was devilishly handsome and had a sort of sinister allure about him. It terrified her to no end to be this close to him. The last time she had been this close to him he had been pointing his wand at her chest whilst casting the killing curse. This boy would be her murderer in the future. He would ruin lives and kill beloved friends.

But he wasn't Voldemort yet. Idiot, she thought. By now he's already murdered people, like his father and grandparents, after discovering that his father was an anti-magic muggle who had left his mother after finding out she was a witch. He's found the Chamber of Secrets which means that Myrtle's been killed by the basilisk and he's framed Hagrid for the death and had him expelled. He's been practicing dark magic and pretty soon, Slughorn is going to tell his favourite student about the darkest magic of all: Horcruxes. Hermione shuddered involuntarily.

"You didn't answer Professor Slughorn's question," Antonin drawled menacingly. "What happened to your face?" His bright green eyes were like daggers, sizing her up in an attempt to intimidate her. He was succeeding, but Hermione wasn't about to let it show.

"It's none of your business," was her quiet but sharp reply.

Both boys gave her daunting looks. Hermione nearly passed out with fear as Tom leaned in close to her, his cool breath like ghostly whispers against her neck. Don't worry, she had to remind herself, he's not going to kill you in a classroom full of students. "I hope you haven't told anyone about the light in the forest. It'll be our little secret," he whispered so only she could hear. Hermione looked away from him as he drew away from her. Despite her fiercest attempts to clear her mind she couldn't help but recall the disturbing sensation of him cursing her with the cruciatus while laughing maniacally. When she closed her eyes she could feel Voldemort's abnormally long, waxy fingers as they roughly fondled her breasts.

Hermione opened her eyes trying to forget the distressing image. She quickly glanced at Tom's hands. They were strong hands. Big hands with long, muscular fingers, nothing like Voldemort's thin papery fingers. This gave her a bit of relief. He wasn't Voldemort as of yet.

"You will have the next hour to complete the potion," Hermione heard Slughorn say with a tone of finality. She had missed his explanation, a very un-Hermione thing to do. She glanced up at the front of the class to see the instructions written out on the board in neat script that she would have normally associated with a woman, rather than a man. They were supposed to be making a remedy for the effects of Forgetfulness Potion.

Hermione checked to see what Tom and Antonin were up to. Antonin was currently making provocative gestures to some giggling blonde Slytherin girl across the room. Tom was absently riffling through the ingredients needed for brewing the counter potion. Hermione straightened up a bit. She had to push her fear aside for the time being and focus on the task at hand. Next time she had class she'd ask to sit with someone else if possible. "So are we going to start or what?" she asked bitterly.

Tom ignored her as he started measuring out ingredients. Antonin looked over at her with annoyance written all over his face. "Just let Tom do it. He's Slughorn's favourite student." Unbothered, he went back to his gestures.

Hermione glared at the Slytherin. "I don't care if Tom's the guy who first created the counter potion. This is a group effort and I'm not just going to sit back and let one person do it all." Hermione had been in that particular position numerous times. Ron and Harry would take the back seat and let her do her thing. Now that the tables were turned on her, well, she didn't like it.

Tom didn't even spare her a glance as he continued to check ingredients off the supply list and measure them. Hermione rolled her eyes and reached for the Graphorn powder. She yelped when Tom grabbed her wrist firmly in his cold hand, squeezing painstakingly hard.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded spitefully, as he began to slowly twist her wrist counter clockwise.

"I'm helping," she replied, wincing as she tried to pull her wrist out of his cold grip. "Ow! Quit it! That hurts!"

Tom smirked maliciously and thrust her hand away from the Graphorn. "I don't need help," he scowled.

Hermione glared at the young Voldemort. He sure had one hell of a temper, but she wasn't going to let that stop her. "It's a group project," she snapped back. Deep inside of her she felt good standing up to Tom Marvolo Riddle. He wasn't that scary…at least not when they were surrounded by thirty eyewitnesses.

Tom growled. Literally growled. Hermione was taken aback by his reaction. He had sounded almost animalistic. "I said _leave it to me_. What don't you get? I don't _want_ your help," he snarled.

Antonin looked over at them, clearly bored. "Just leave it to Tom," he warned with a grimace. Hermione ignored him and let out a frustrated breath before again reaching across the small table for the Graphorn. She actually managed to get it in her hand this time. Tom instantly reacted by trying to snatch it out of her hand. Hermione and Tom struggled over the ingredient, all the while Hermione thinking how idiotic he was acting, just like a child. Tom yanked forcefully on the ingredient causing Hermione to let go and stumble backwards into the table. Tom grinned triumphantly, the Graphorn firmly in his clenched fist. The commotion hadn't gone unnoticed by the rest of the class though. Several students (Slytherins) were glaring at her, while everyone else was snickering in amusement.

Hermione whipped around to face the gloating Tom. "How dare you!" she hissed at him. Hermione swung her hand back in an angry gesture, but accidentally knocked a bottle containing hellebore into the boiling pot. Both Tom and Hermione scrambled for the potion, shouting, "No!" in perfect unison as they tried futilely to douse the potion. But it was too late. A rush of purple smoke came shooting from the cauldron, smoking up the room and causing them to choke. Hermione gasped and tried to cover her mouth with her sleeve as she began to cough. A horrible smell began to emanate from the smoking cauldron, like rotten eggs and vinegar. Seconds later the cauldron's contents exploded everywhere, but mainly on Antonin, Tom, and Hermione, coating them in a yellowish slime.

"Ugh!" Hermione cried in disgust.

Antonin looked positively horrified. "What in bloody hell?!" he roared, staring down in horror at his now slime covered uniform. But nothing at that moment was more terrifying then the look on Riddle's face as his ominous gaze fell upon her. He had gone deathly pale with suppressed rage, his ebony eyes had grown darker if even humanly possible. He was glowering at her with such intense hatred that Hermione finally seemed to realize just how dangerous the boy was. He was a murderer, a practitioner of dark magic. Anyone who knew the real Riddle would be scared to death, and that was exactly what she was at that moment.

She cautiously took a step back, wishing she had a wand to defend herself with. The classroom was still smoky, making it difficult to see more then five feet away. Tom was no further then two feet away from her as he whipped out his long black wand, pointing it straight at her. The last time Riddle had pointed his wand at her, he was Lord Voldemort and had been on the verge of casting the killing curse on her. Hermione began to tremble in sheer terror. She could dimly hear people yelling, coughing, and Slughorn trying desperately to calm the madness that had erupted.

Tom's voice was deadly low when he finally spoke. "I swear on my life, the next time you get in my way I won't hesitate to make your life miserable, you worthless fool." He stiffly pocketed his wand as Slughorn appeared through the purple haze.

He waved his hand around his face, whether trying to clear the air around him of smoke or the horrible smell, Hermione wasn't exactly sure. He looked disappointed. "What happened, Tom? You've never made such a grave error before." Slughorn looked kindly upon his favourite student, already forgiving him for whatever might have happened to cause such a mess. Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust.

"This…girl," Tom sneered through gritted teeth, as though he could find no other word to describe her that would be appropriate to use in front of Slughorn, " ruined my antidote."

Hermione gaped at him. "Your antidote? I already told you. This was a _group_ project. I was not about to sit around and let you do all of the work. Besides, it's your fault I knocked that hellebore into the cauldron. If you hadn't been trying to get it out of my hands I never would have stumbled backwards and knocked it in!" she retaliated, her voice growing dangerously louder. Tom only glared at her.

Slughorn looked back and forth between the two students. "Alright, alright," he said. "It was a mistake. We'll just clean it up and continue next class." Hermione could tell that Slughorn wasn't one for confrontation.

By now the smoke had cleared and the rest of the class was watching the display curiously. Slughorn turned to face the students. "We shall continue with the antidotes next class, everyone. For now all of you are dismissed."

When Hermione had finished cleaning up her portion of the mess she quickly stormed out of the Potions class, avoiding Riddle at all possible costs, and hurried back up to her dormitory to change and get ready for lunch. She couldn't stand Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was arrogant and his intentions were plagued with malice. She couldn't wait to find a way back to the future, anything to get away from Riddle. She tried to convince herself that the teenaged Voldemort didn't frighten her. Just by looking at him he seemed pretty normal. But if she was being honest with herself, well, she was plain petrified of him – of what he had done, of what he was capable of doing, and of what he would one day do.

***

To say that Tom was annoyed was an understatement. To say that he was completely incensed by the new girl was more accurate. No one had ever questioned him or gone against what he'd said. Who did this girl – Hermione Granger – think she was? She had no idea what he was capable of. If the smoke in Potions class had lasted a bit longer he would cursed her to death without so much as a blink of the eye. He was recognized as the most brilliant student Hogwarts had ever seen. He wasn't about to let some idiot girl spoil his merits.

But he wouldn't kill her, not yet at least. Despite how tempting it was to rid the world of her annoyances, he still needed to get information out of her. One way or another he'd get the stubborn and secretive girl to talk. She was his inferior. She was nothing. She was a temporary pebble in his shoe.

As Tom changed into clean robes for lunch he muddled over the story Headmaster Dippet had told him about how Hermione Granger had arrived in the Forbidden Forest. Yes, he had gotten the Headmaster to spill the 'confidential' story to him. Tom had Dippet wrapped around his finger, just like Slughorn and the rest of Hogwarts. Only the fool Dumbledore had a growing suspicion of his 'questionable' activities and practices. Albus Dumbledore would be his downfall if ever he were to find out the truth, that he was a murderer and had done things far too horrible for one to imagine. And now there was Granger, the new girl, who seemed to insist upon defying his greatness. Yes, she would definitely have to go too. He would have fun seeing to her ruin.

As for her little 'excuse', well, he didn't buy it for a second. Wizarding school in America, a visit to a friend in England, some guys assaulting her in an alley; a likely story. He had personally seen her wounds. Only a wizard of great power who was familiar with the Dark Arts would have been capable of inflicting such precise and effective damage to a victim. Her injuries were too measured, too purposeful to have been done by some drunken halfwits. No, there was more to it then that.

Tom continued to ponder over the situation as he made his way to the dining hall for lunch. The only wizards he believed to be capable of inflicting that kind of harm, especially the curse that had given her a fatal wound to the stomach, would be someone like Grindelwald, or himself at that matter. But what interest or business would Grindelwald, a power seeking evil sorcerer have with an unremarkable girl like that? But if Grindelwald thought she was important then she must be. He had to find out. He needed as much knowledge as possible to assist him on his quest for greatness, power and supreme sorcery.

***

Hermione paused as she reached the dining hall. She looked towards the Gryffindor table and skimmed over all of the unfamiliar faces there. She sighed in defeat. Just as she was about to make her way to the table someone lightly tapped her shoulder. Instantly thinking it was Tom she spun around, defensive. She was surprised to see a red-haired girl staring at her, in wide-eyed shock.

"I – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you were, um, someone else," Hermione said apologetically.

The girl smiled sweetly and nodded in understanding. "That's all right. I'm Morgana Green. I'm in Gryffindor, like you, I see," the girl said, pointing at the Gryffindor badge on Hermione's collar.

Hermione gave a faint smile. The past few hours had really been worse for wear. Firstly, she had learned that she had somehow been 'transported' into the past, 1944 to be exact. Secondly, Tom Riddle or the future Lord Voldemort just so happened to be her Potions buddy. This day had gone from bad to worse.

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione said politely, "but I have a suspicious feeling that the entire student body already knows that."

Morgana smiled apologetically. "Word travels fast," she replied innocently. "Besides, it was hard to ignore all the excitement in Potions class."

Hermione felt herself blush as she followed Morgana to the Gryffindor table. "You were there, huh," she sighed.

Morgana giggled. "Yep. But don't worry about it. Everyone was just surprised that you stood up to Tom. There's just something about Tom that intimidates people. Other then those goons who call themselves his so-called 'friends', everyone else just stays as far away as possibly from him. But you were gutsy, girl. I mean, way to go. Show him who's the boss."

Hermione tried to force a smile but a feeling of dread was slowly growing in the pit of her stomach. Becoming Tom Marvolo Riddle's enemy was last thing she wanted to do. She really had to keep her distance from him. Even the students could tell he was dangerous.

They arrived at the Gryffindor table and stopped by a couple of students. "Hey, you guys. This here is Hermione Granger. She's the new student." Five pairs of eyes fell on her and Hermione shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Morgana put a delicate hand on Hermione's shoulder and started making introductions. Hermione guessed that they were kind of a group, like she, Harry, and Ron had been. She felt something in her heart strain in her chest at the thought of her best friends. She missed them horribly.

Hermione absently tuned into the introductions that were being made for her benefit. There was a blonde girl with bright blue eyes whose name was Brittany. The three other people were all guys. One of them was a brunette named Jonas, another was fair named George, and the last guy who had auburn hair – and who had stared at the table the entire time, pushing his food around with a fork as though completely disinterested – was Mark.

"Hi," Hermione said softly. Friendly greetings were called in response. Hermione sat down beside Morgana and across from Mark. She kind of liked this Mark guy. It was refreshing to find someone out of the entire nosy student populace who wasn't swept up with the strange appearance of 'the new girl'. She wished he would just look up for a second so she could see his face. He must have sensed her gaze on him because he did look up, however briefly. Hermione couldn't help but gape. To say Mark was handsome was an understatement. She had possibly never seen such a gorgeous guy. He had incredibly green eyes, full lips, tanned skin, wisps of fair hair falling in his eyes, and an angular jawbone. Hermione quickly looked away, blushing.

"You're the girl from Potions, right?"

Hermione looked up to see Jonas looking at her inquisitively. "Yeah."

"That was quite a show," Brittany chimed eagerly. Hermione got the impression that Brittany wasn't concerned with the occurrence in Potions class, but rather she was more interested in getting Jonas' attention.

Hermione nodded and served herself some food. When she looked up she found Mark staring curiously at her. His gaze was fierce and unfaltering. Hermione was the first one to look away from the intense gaze they were sharing. She felt butterflies take flight in her stomach. She tried to eat a few bites of her meal, a delicious stew, but found that she had lost her appetite. Instead she just sat and listened in on the conversation at the table, content just to be with people who weren't (hopefully) judging her.

"So, Mark," George managed between bites of food, "how's your music coming?"

Hermione looked up, eager to learn more about Mark. She imagined him having a deep, honey smooth voice. She wasn't far off. When he spoke she found herself melting in the low but comforting tone of his voice.

"I've been busy lately." Mark shrugged and wrinkled his nose a little. He looked cute with his face scrunched up like that.

Hermione couldn't help but jump on the chance of talking to him. She just hoped she didn't sound as fake as Brittany had. "Are you a musician?" she asked casually.

Mark looked up at her. He had an adorable small smile on his face. "Yeah. I'm a songwriter."

Hermione couldn't help but smile back. "What do you play?"

"I've been playing the piano since I was eight and a couple of years ago I took up the guitar." Mark ran a hand through his hair. Hermione found him very modest looking in that moment and she liked him even more for it. "I really love music. Do you play?"

Hermione laughed lightly thinking of all the times she had tried and failed at playing an instrument. "Merlin, no. I'm not," Hermione searched for the right word, "musically inclined, I guess."

Mark chuckled lightly. His smile was genuine and the sparkle in his eyes was contagious. "What class do you have next?" he asked.

Hermione tried to remember her schedule. "I think I have History of Magic next."

Mark grinned, apparently pleased. "Great. Me too. I'll walk you."

It was then that Hermione noticed that the others who had been sitting with them were already heading out of the dining hall. Mark got up, followed quickly by Hermione. As she glanced up her eyes instantly met two stabbing black eyes, Tom's eyes. She gasped, once again shocked by the pure hatred conveyed in his eyes. She found she could not look away. Her nerves immediately set off again. Tom was like a lingering, looming presence, always watching her. Yes, she was definitely letting her imagination get the better of her. Mark lightly touched her arm, a look of concern on his face.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" he asked, following her gaze across the dining hall.

Hermione nodded quickly. "Yeah, let's go," She tried to pull him along, but Mark seemed to be glued to the spot. Hermione followed his gaze. He was glaring at Tom. He must have noticed she'd been looking at him. Mark's face had darkened to the point where he looked dangerous, but not nearly as dangerous as Tom looked naturally. Hermione tugged gently on his shirtsleeve. "Mark."

He looked away from Tom and began to walk towards the exit. Hermione was relieved. She thought he was going to make a show in front of everyone by confronting Tom, thankfully he had thought better of it. She had to jog to catch up to him as he stalked quickly out of the hall.

They walked in contemplative silence for a bit until Mark decided to break the silence. "Did Tom do something to bother you?" he asked sounding bothered.

Hermione bit her lip. She really liked Mark but she hardly knew the guy. It was hard not being able to tell anyone the truth. She longed to have someone to hold her and comfort her while she revealed all the trials she had gone through. Mark couldn't be that person. She didn't know how long she'd be stuck in the past, if not forever. She couldn't get attached, couldn't pour her heart out to people she didn't even know. "N-no. I'm just, still upset about what happened in Potions," she replied, wincing when her voice faltered.

Mark must have sensed her hesitation, not to mention her lie. He gave a look that clearly said 'I don't believe you' but didn't press her any further. "Hey," he said, stopping her right outside the classroom. "If ever you want to talk about something, I'll always be ready to listen." Hermione smiled and turned to head back into class. "Wait," Mark said quickly as he grabbed her wrist to stop her. "I know that you're really private about, well, whatever happened to you. Just know that," he paused and smiled, "I'm here for you."

Hermione felt tears sting her eyes. How was it possible that a guy she didn't even know, a guy she had hardly spoken to, could be so kind and compassionate? She didn't trust her voice not to show all of the emotions that were coursing through her, so she nodded instead. She could tell he understood. All the gratitude she felt for him right then had been conveyed in their silent exchange.

***

That night Hermione laid wide awake for several hours, staring up at the mahogany ceiling above her head. It was the same ceiling she had woken up to for the past six years. She felt homesick as she thought of the life she had left behind, her friends, her family, and the Order. She had left them to fight Lord Voldemort on their own without her help. She felt helpless not knowing what was happening to them and having no way to help them.

Mind you, it wasn't as though they knew she was still alive. She had been missing for over a month and she had no doubt that the Death Eaters had reported her dead. And what about her parents? Well, they were hidden away in Australia with memory charms. They didn't even know her. A stray tear slipped down her cheek. She carelessly wiped it away. At least she could reassure herself that if she never returned to the future nobody would miss her since they already thought she was dead. The thought that her friends were falsely informed about her real fate, though, was disheartening.

Deciding that there was no point in trying to fall asleep since obviously she had far too much on her mind, Hermione decided to go for a walk. She soundlessly crept out of her bed, slipping on a pair of sneakers and a sweater. All of the orders for clothes, books and her wand that Dumbledore had called for had been delivered after dinner. Quite frankly she had been taken aback by the style of clothes she had received. She had forgotten that the fashion of the 1940s was far different than that of the 90s.

The pyjamas she received were short, silky chemise nightgowns, and two pairs of ensemble silk pyjama tops and bottoms. As for casual wear, most of the articles of clothing she had received were dresses and blouses and mid calf skirts. They were beautiful, really. They reminded her of vintage Vogue. She kind of liked the style.

Hermione slipped her wand into the pocket of her sweater and made her way to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady was sleeping in her portrait and Hermione made sure not to wake her as she gently shut the portrait door, sealing it tightly closed.

It was past midnight as Hermione glided soundlessly down corridor after corridor. Even in the dimly torch light hallways she knew every nook and cranny there was. Easily becoming bored by wandering aimlessly through the school – after hour excursions had lost their thrill after her first year at Hogwarts – she decided to head out to the lake. Some fresh air was exactly what she needed to clear her mind.

She only made it to the main floor though before her midnight stroll came to an abrupt end. She had almost reached the exit when footsteps echoed from down the hallway. Hermione instinctively darted behind an armour display, holding her breath. The footsteps continued to get closer to her hiding spot. Curious as to who else was wandering the hallways after hours, Hermione peeked around the knight's armour. Her eyes widened when she saw Tom casually strolling in her direction.

Hermione automatically backed away into the shadows, but it was so dark that she accidentally tripped over the pedestal by her feet. As a result the armour rattled noisily. Hermione shut her eyes tightly. Perfect. Just perfect.

***

"Who's there?" Tom demanded. He was proud of the audible strength that one could sense in his tone. No sound came from behind the still shaking statue. Tom waited for it to stop shaking and narrowed his eyes as he glared into the darkness behind the statue. "Come out. I know you're there."

It never ceased to amaze him how some students could be so persistent about wandering after hours. It was probably some frightened first year trying to impress his little friends. Tom drew his wand, twirling it through his fingers. He'd have fun disciplining this one.

Finally a figure stepped out from behind the statue, but remained in the shadow, concealing their identity. Tom took a few steps towards them. He could tell it was a girl, and not a first year, by the petite form and narrow hips. If anything she was in at least her sixth year. She was wearing soft pink silk pyjama pants and a white pullover. Not exactly the smartest choice of colours for one who wanted to 'blend into the night'.

"Come forward," Tom ordered, holding his wand steady in his hand. The girl hesitated then stepped forward, out of the shadows and Tom realized it was the girl from the forest, the girl who had made a fool of him in Potions. Anger flared within him. "What do you think you're doing, wandering the corridors after hours? I could give you a detention. I am Head Boy," Tom sneered, advancing on the girl, Hermione.

"I know. And my business is my own. Not yours," she replied quietly.

No student had ever told Tom what was his business or not; they knew better then to question his authority. Mind you, this girl was new. She still needed to learn the ropes. A snide grin graced his lips as he approached the girl. She responded by stepping back. He continued advancing on her until her back was firmly pressed against the wall. Tom stopped only when he was two inches away from her and they were both concealed in the shadows of the hallway. She was rather short, he realized, no taller then five foot three.

It annoyed him how she met his gaze dead on without looking away as most would have. As he looked into her eyes he could see fear. Her fear boosted his ego to whole new level. He basked in how her bottom lip quivered, however discreetly, as a result of her suppressed fear. Her hair was out of sorts, as though she hadn't bothered to tame the wild curls before embarking on her midnight excursion.

"So are you going to tell me what you were doing?" he asked again, now pressing his chest to hers. Hermione gasped slightly at the pressure and weight he was applying to her own chest.

Hermione shook her head. "I told you. It's none of your business, Tom." Hearing her say his name renewed his frustration with her. Not only did she make him sound like an ordinary person by saying his name in her innocently soft voice, but he simply hated how it had sounded so…good to hear her say it. When he graduated in nine months he would make sure the world knew him by Lord Voldemort. He would make the entire world cower in fear to say his name.

Tom proceeded to press himself harder against her. Hermione's eyes widened in shock. "I could give you a detention you know. Unfortunately, first impressions are very important and Headmaster Dippet won't be impressed. Your first night at school and already breaking the rules." Hermione glared at him. "Of course, I may just over look it." He gave her a mischievous look.

"What are you proposing?" Hermione asked breathlessly. Her warm breath tickled his chest where he had unbuttoned several of his shirt's top buttons. He swallowed back an unsettling feeling. He refused to allow this girl to have any sort of power over him.

"All I'm saying is that if you tell me what that light in the forest was and how you _really_ got here, then I might just pretend I never saw you here tonight." How could she refuse an offer like that? But of course, this Hermione Granger never ceased to prove him wrong.

"I think I'll take the risk. Besides, I already told you. I don't know what that light was," she replied coldly.

Tom took a step back. "So maybe you don't know what the light was," Tom said, admitting to himself that perhaps the girl was telling the truth about the light, although he couldn't say for sure, "there's still the issue about who nearly killed you and why."

Hermione stepped around him, backing away into the torchlight where she could be seen. With her face lit up Tom noted how she looked paler than even himself. The dim lighting gave her a ghostlike beauty that haunted even the emotionless Tom Riddle.

"Just stay away from me, Tom. I know what you're about and what you've done. I know what you're planning on doing and I want no association with you."

Hermione's words echoed through the hallway as a resounding silence followed her bitter words. Tom's heart was pounding ferociously in his chest. What could she possibly know about him? He was in front of her in less then a second. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it roughly, causing the girl to stumble against his powerful chest. She looked up at him, gasping in pain and alarm. "What could you possibly know about me?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

"I-I," Hermione tried to struggle out of his grip but he was too strong for her, he only tightened his hold. Tom noticed her reaching for her wand but quickly grabbed her other wrist. "Tom, please. You're hurting me," she whimpered.

Tom's pleased grin grew wider. "I know. Now answer me," he growled menacingly. He felt powerful when people begged for mercy.

"I," she paused, glancing down the hallway. Tom followed her gaze, checking to see if someone was coming. As a precaution he half dragged her back into the shadows. He twisted her arm harder earning a small yelp from Hermione.

"Well?" he insisted.

"I just said it to get you to leave me alone," she said quickly, breathily. "I swear. I didn't know you were so touchy about your personal life. I promise you I don't know anything."

Her large brown doe eyes, now glittering with suppressed tears, begged him. He didn't know what to think. He couldn't let her go gallivanting off to tell Dumbledore or Dippet and have him expelled after all his hard work. But how could she possibly know anything about him? He didn't tell anyone about his personal life, it was _personal_. He didn't even think people knew him outside of school. Perhaps she was telling the truth. Unlikely, he thought. She seems to have a tendency to lie. He looked deeper into her pleading eyes.

Finally coming to a decision he thrust her wrist away. Hermione stumbled backwards into the wall, clutching her wrist in her hand and rubbing it to restore the circulation. "I don't know who the hell you are," Tom hissed, "but whatever you think you know about me better stay with you. If you dare soil my reputation at this school I swear I won't hesitate to _kill_ you."

With that Tom stormed away, leaving the girl petrified as she stared at his retreating form. He could have sworn that as he walked away she said, "I know."

He ignored it, convincing himself it was a figment of his already mystified and upset mind. He wished he had already mastered legilimency. As it were, reading peoples' minds was a difficult skill to master. He had to find out whom this girl was and why she thought she knew so much about him before she ruined his plans. Until he did she would remain a mystery.

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Yay! Another chapter up and done! I hope all of you enjoyed it. I had fun writing this one. I'm getting started on chapter three and it should be up within the week.

Please review:)

INK xo


	3. A Future in the Past

Hey everyone! So, please forgive me for taking so long to update. You know how it is, though, life just happens. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It involves a bit of Tom starting to peice together the facts and Hermione standing up to him, as well as Mark being the sweetie that his character is. I'm so proud of Mark, he's one of the few characters I can claim my own. Yay!

Read and Review!!

Disclaimer: JK is my idol. She gets all the credit for characters, setting and concept! Long live the queen of Harry Potter :)

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Ch. 3 – A Future in the Past

Hermione couldn't sleep that night after returning to her dormitory from her frightening run-in with Tom Riddle. He had so much confidence that it intimidated even her. Her friends had always known her to be the brightest, most confident and talented witch they had met, but Hermione had to admit that she had met her match after meeting Tom. She wasn't nearly as powerful and skilful as he was with a wand. He knew things that would take her years to learn and master. He knew things about Dark Magic that to Hermione were unthinkable monstrosities.

She was only able to manage a measly hour of sleep that night and was dressed by six o'clock in her uniform: a grey skirt, a neatly tucked in white blouse, a sweater vest, a tie, knee socks and her cloak. Hermione assessed her appearance in the full-length mirror beside her bed. She prided herself on maintaining a crisp and mature image. Hermione slowly crept out of the girls' dormitory and made her way down the spiral staircase to the common room that was relatively dim due to the earliness of the hour. She would have to wait another hour and a half before breakfast.

Heading over to the scantily stocked bookshelves, Hermione began to browse the titles for something that would catch her attention. When no book title jumped out at her she randomly grabbed one and nestled into the cozy red velvet armchair by the fireplace.

The book she had chosen was called '_Then and Now, an Analytical Essay on the Past and Present Wizarding World.'_ The title was ironic considering her current situation. It was a confusing concept that currently this future was really her past. With a half amused sigh, Hermione opened up to the first page of lengthy essay. The title wasn't an attention getter but she needed to do something to pass the time. She tried to read and retain all of the information as she skimmed the first few pages, but she soon found herself reading the same sentence over and over again. It was a familiar sign that she had a lack of concentration and that her thoughts were otherwise engaged by another topic. Frustrated she tried to refocus her thoughts and concentrated on the next sentence. The page blurred before her, and frustrated, Hermione tossed the thin book carelessly onto the coffee table.

Her mind was cluttered with so many disorganised thoughts. She missed where she had come from, the London of the future, her present. This world was like a stranger to her. Everything other then the Hogwarts castle was unfamiliar to her. Everything seemed so…old fashioned. As she thought more about her circumstance, she realized that she didn't necessarily miss the future enough to want to return. The major source of her hesitancy to return was that she had no idea whether she'd wind up back in the murderous clutches of Lord Voldemort or in some alternate universe where no one recognized her. The unknown was a frightening notion. She felt completely at a loss, helpless, and alone. Not even Dumbledore's presence supplied her any strong sense of comfort.

Hermione was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't realize the hour was approaching breakfast time. She jumped, startled, when a hand lightly touched her shoulder. She looked up to see George, Brittany, Morgana, Mark, and Jonas watching her expectantly.

"We were wondering when you'd wake up from your little daydream," Brittany said with a small, unimpressed grimace.

Hermione blushed as she quickly got to her feet. "Sorry," she muttered. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mark grinning with amusement. She gave him a teasing glare as the group headed off down to breakfast. Hermione casually fell back to walk behind the others with Mark. She walked beside him in comfortable silence. As they approached the Great Hall the sound of lively voices began to grow louder. Mark turned to her, an indecipherable look on his tanned face. "That's an interesting book you were reading this morning."

Hermione continued walking as she replied, impassively, "I wasn't really reading it. It was more of a suggestion to pass the time."

She sat down stiffly across from him at the Gryffindor table. There was something in his eyes that said he didn't believe her, that he was onto her. Hermione wasn't worried though, if there was one person she had met so far who wouldn't press her for answer or broach a sore topic for her such as how she really ended up at Hogwarts, it was Mark. She could tell that he was the sort of guy who took everything in stride and never messed around in areas that didn't concern him – not unless he was directly asked to get involved. Getting him involved, though, was the last thing she wanted. Hermione had to make sure that few to no one knew about her circumstances.

"So," she said casually, "what do you know about time travel?" She immediately bit her tongue. Had she been too forward? Would they suspect something? Of course they would. They weren't stupid. Morgana and Mark gave her a lingering gaze of disapproval. Brittany, Jonas and George disregarded her question, too caught up in their own petty discussion to be bothered.

Morgana narrowed her eyes. "Not much," she said shortly. "Time travel is an illegal practice. Everyday wizards and witches aren't privy to that kind of information. Besides, time travel is dangerous. It's not something you can master and teach. At least I don't think it is." She looked thoughtfully at the ceiling of the great hall. It wasn't enchanted this morning and one could appreciate the fine architecture.

Hermione nodded and took a bite of toast, disappointed at how the hopeful interrogation had turned out. Little more was said after that as they ate the rest of breakfast in silence. She shouldn't have expected more to come of the topic of time travel. They were average high school students. If she herself didn't know much about time travel then she couldn't very well expect much more from other students.

Together, the three of them walked to Transfiguration. Hermione was noticeably in a sombre mood. Just as she was about to head inside the classroom, Mark snagged her by the elbow and pulled her a few feet away from the door. She nearly tripped as he dragged her beneath the shadow of an arch.

"What?" she demanded, dazed by his unexpected action.

Mark glanced around them before leaning close to her, his breath tickling her ear. His eyes were particularly bright that morning she remarked. "I don't know why you're so curious about time travel, but I want you to know that it's not something to get mixed up in. A lot of wizards have gone mad, disappeared or died in attempts to control time. Do you understand?" His voice was deep with passion. Obviously he was against time travel for whatever reason.

Hermione nodded. "I'm not being careless. I was just curious."

Mark shook his head and gave a short laugh. "Curiosity. It always starts out that way. Soon you become so engulfed in using magic to tamper with time that it becomes a drug and you can't think of anything else."

Hermione impulsively but gently touched his jaw. Mark met her gaze. They shared an intense silence of understanding. She could see tears forming in his eyes. "Mark. What happened?"

"It's nothing," he said abruptly, pulling away from her.

Hermione knew that it was most certainly not nothing but she wasn't about to press him for answers. Something had happened to cause him a fierce resentment for it.

A moment of silence passed between them, neither knowing what to say. "Look, Mark. I didn't mean to upset you." She wanted badly to tell him the truth. She knew she couldn't though. She had to formulate a story and use it to keep up appearance. "It's something I've always been curious about. It's just a harmless interest of mine. I'm not trying to defy time and gravity. I have a good head on my shoulders. I'm not about to let some pastime of mine consume me." She gave him an ill-convincing smile of reassurance.

Mark ran a hand absently through his hair. A habit of his, Hermione noticed. "If you really want to know more about time travel I guess you could check the library. The restricted section probably has the best books but some time travel books fly under the school's radar and can still be found in the main library."

"Thanks," Hermione said, a bit disappointed. She had already been planning on visiting the library. She began to walk back towards class but Mark stopped her once again. "Yeah?" she asked patiently.

"If you can't find anything in the library…" he trailed off as though he had lost his train of thought. He continued again in a whisper. "The Forbidden Forest is the home of ancient magic," he hesitated. "There are some creatures, like the Centaurs, who have spent thousands of years analysing time and space. They would have unlimited knowledge. They aren't the most trustworthy beasts and one would have to be careful." Mark wouldn't look away from her. His gaze was intense. "In fact it's probably safer if you bring a friend along."

Hermione bit her lip, her mind reeling with new possibility. How did she not think of the Centaurs? Mark was such an incredible guy. Her trust in him and confidence in him as a friend had intensified in the past thirty seconds. Not only had he basically reminded her of the best possibly method to learn about time travel but he had implied that he would accompany her despite the fact that he was so against it.

Pleased, Hermione made her way into Transfiguration class with Mark at her side to where an expectant Morgana awaited them.

Tom wandered aimlessly around Hogwarts castle. It was two weeks into September and it had been exactly a week since Hermione Granger had arrived. She was a peculiar girl, a girl with secrets; secrets he longed to uncover. For it was in his nature to know. He was curious and once he set his sights on discovering or conquering something new to him that posed a challenge, he could not be deterred.

Tom buried his pale hands deeper into his pockets. He had no place to go that afternoon. Classes were over and Antonin was serving detention. Nott and Rosier were off satisfying their raging hormones, the worthless fools.

Upon impulse he decided to go to the library. Perhaps he would find some trouble to stir up. The most uninteresting people hung around in libraries, at least the ones who repeatedly could be seen rummaging through the stocks and reading massive, pointless textbooks. Those people lacked know-how. His belief was that no one could fully understand or master a subject or goal until they have gone outside the limitations of factual research and have tangibly gathered experience.

He entered through the third floor entrance to the library. All was quiet. Several students were hunched over textbooks and homework already into the swing of the school routine after a mere two weeks. Tom grinned as some of the students shied away from him as he walked by, pretending not to notice him. Their tense positions betrayed their true fears.

As he wandered further into the depths of the library he noticed, much to his pleasure, the increased dimness and stuffiness. It smelled more and more prominently of ancient books, and although he was not a fan of the library, he couldn't help but admit he enjoyed the scent of musky books.

He was troubled lately and the root cause of his frustrations stemmed from that infuriating Hermione Granger. Had she never shown up at Hogwarts or had she shown up any other way than battered and bleeding in the Forbidden Forest he would have no fascination with her. She would have been any other student flying under his radar of disinterest. As it were, Hermione Granger had irked his interests and he was now determined to learn who she was. He had already started checking old school files for the name Granger but he could find no past relatives of hers. He had been doing research outside of school as well, sending inquiries around the wizarding world in an attempt to find any connections that would lead him to unravelling the mystery behind Hermione Granger. But it seemed any connections relative to her were non-existent.

As he rounded another corner of bookshelves, burying himself further and further into seclusion he noticed a familiar head of wavy brown hair. His lips curled into a mischievous smile. Speak of the devil. Tom noiselessly approached the girl, hiding himself in the shadows of a towering bookshelf. He stayed hidden appraising her. She was intent on whatever she was researching. He could have blown a hole through the wall and she probably wouldn't have noticed.

A few moments later, Hermione rose quietly from her seat, flipping the heavy tome she was reading upside down to save her page. Tom drew further back into the shadows as she passed no six feet away from him, completely unaware of his watchful eyes and intruding presence. He was tempted to follow her but decided against it. Perhaps whatever she was reading would give him a better sense of her unexpected arrival. When she was out of sight and hearing distance he stealthily approached the table.

He turned over the ridiculously bulky book. The sole desk lamp was hardly sufficient light to read the fine print. As his eyes scoured the general content of the pages he found himself reeling somewhat with surprise. He turned the book over to read the spine. The title was plain and simple – straight to the point without sugar coating: "Time Travel – Tegoni's Methods".

Tom thoughtfully reopened the book, his eyes dark with intrigue. He would have thought a book like this would have been banned from the library and student use, unless Hermione had gotten it from the Restricted Section. If she had it had been a bold move; he momentarily admired her. Not many students had the courage to go into the Restricted Section, and those who did go in rarely had the dexterity to get back out undetected.

From what he recalled of Marcus Tegoni was that he had been one of the most infamously known wizards due to his vocation of harnessing the concept of time travel. He had been arrested several times for his tamperings with time travel. It was illegal to play around with time travel and it was dangerous. Tegoni had been onto something before he had seen to his own demise. The sole witness of his death, his maid for thirty years, had said that he had conjured some kind of pulsing vortex of light. Apparently he had been overjoyed by his discovery and was entranced by the beauty of the light that he had stepped into it. The vortex had immediately consumed him and dematerialized.

Tom chuckled at the sheer idiocy of it. No one could possibly control the synapses of time travel. It just couldn't be done. He glanced back down at the page Hermione had left off on. One page contained photocopies of Tegoni's insane scribbles of nonsensical sketches, the other spoke about the light Tegoni had conjured and been consumed by. The book described the light Tegoni had revealed as a 'Glitch in Time'. After analyzing the amassment of Tegoni's notes, the author of the book had stated that the majority of Tegoni's notes focused on this 'Glitch in Time'. He described it as the inconsistency between the parallel universes of the past and future that would occur, unforeseen when certain conditions were met in each corresponding reality connecting the two worlds only momentarily before closing again.

Tom was about to shut the book, convinced that it was all rubbish, when he was hit by a dismantling revelation: a "Glitch in Time"; an unforeseen connection linking realities, a bright light, a pulsating, electric, vortex. His mind raced back to a week earlier when the light had materialized in the Forest. An incomprehensible wave of raw energy had knocked him backwards. He had been certain that Hermione had appeared from the light. His conscious raced with possibility. Was Hermione Granger from another time? Did she have the power to control parallel realities? Or had she been the victim of an unexpected warp in time? He was onto something. His hunger for knowledge alighted a new intensity within him. He had to talk to Granger. She had to know something. He had to be careful though. She couldn't know he was onto her. He couldn't have her disappearing before he got an answer out of her.

The sound of soft padding footsteps could be heard not to far away. Hermione. He was sure. Tom easily shifted the book back open and assumed a position of effortless comfort. Hermione came into view not a moment later. She stumbled to a halt as her eyes met his. Her casual expression turned into a frown before she cautiously approached the table.

"That's my book," she said carefully, standing a few feet away. He could tell she was being precautious. She was afraid of him. Good.

Tom didn't look away from her large brown eyes. He noticed that they were even darker than chocolate brown and were dotted with flecks of gold. "It's interesting topic matter. Time travel, isn't that subject illegal?" he ran his index down the book's spine and casually flipped through several pages. "When did you pay visit to the Restricted Section?"

Her eyes widened and her heart shaped face paled. "I think you should leave," was her bitter but notably insecure reply. She quickly walked up to him and shut the book, pulling it into her arms. It looked as though it weighed even more than her.

"I'm reasonably comfortable, actually," was his reply. "And really quite intrigued as to what you're doing researching time travel."

Hermione swallowed, but she stiffened her resolve. "I'm doing research for Divination."

"Liar," he snarled, becoming more aggressive. He was taken back when her gaze met his steely one with sheer intensity. He felt like she could burn a hole through him.

"Look, Tom, I'm sure you're eager to ruffle my feathers but I'm not in the mood today. Why don't you find some first year and punish him for picking his nose." She leaned on her left hip and tapped her right foot impatiently as though expecting him to obey her.

"I'd much rather spend time with you, Hermione," he was somewhat surprised by the deepness of his voice as he said those words. But it was true. On a scale from one to ten, first year pettiness didn't even make it, and Hermione surpassed number ten.

Hermione glared at him and he grinned back charmingly to get under her skin. "Well that's just too bad, Tom, because there are other people at this school that _I'd_ rather spend time with and you are certainly not one of them." She was about to storm off but Tom had other plans, he nimbly drew his wand and cast a silent spell. He watched, both pleased and angry, as an invisible force pulled a terrified Hermione backwards before thrusting her into the vacant chair beside him. The chair teetered dangerously on its back two legs before slamming back to the floor.

Hermione was panting, trembling from shock. Tom leaned threateningly close to her. Her lips were only inches away. He hastily dispelled the thought. "Nobody, and I mean nobody walks away from me," Tom growled. His voice was deadly low and gruff with antipathy.

Hermione leaned her head away from him as though trying to get as far away from him as possible, afraid he might bite. Her eyes darted around the room, unsettled for a moment, before she looked back at him. "You have serious ego issues," was her breathless reply. She jumped as Tom slammed his fist down onto the table top, desperately needing to unleash his resentment for her.

"I'm so close to making your life a living hell, Hermione." Her eyes remained glazed with alarm. "I know you're hiding the truth from everyone and I swear I'll figure it out if it's the last thing I do. And when I do your days will be limited, so help me."

Tom had gotten so close to her now that he could feel her erratic breaths whispering against his cheek. He felt the impulse to grab her and shake her or do anything. He got stiffly to his feet, as did she, stumbling slightly on wobbly legs. His eyes picked up on the pulse in her neck. Not taking his eyes from the near translucent flesh he wrapped his large, cold fingers around her thin neck, his thumb and index applying pressure to either side of her throat. She gasped and grabbed his wrist, panicked with both hands.

"Let go," she pleaded, squeezing his wrist fearfully.

He ignored her, thinking how easy it would be for him to cut of her circulation entirely and end her life, or snap her neck – instant death. Was she even aware her life was in his hands at that moment? He looked into her horrified eyes and felt power. It was pathetic to think that any one at the school yet alone most other wizards around the world could stand a chance against him. He knew dark magic. He had done horrible things. He was a murderer. It was so simple. After the first time it became more natural to him. He was cold-blooded. He basked in it.

Hermione's hardly discernable moan aroused him from his reflective reverie. Her head had fallen backward, limp, and her knees gave out on her. He caught her gingerly up in his arms. He hadn't realized he'd been holding her neck so firmly. She had blacked out from the lack of air getting to her lungs. If he had persisted to suffocate her it might have all been over. It was just another example of how fleeting and weak life was. You could steal it away in a moment.

He sat her in the nearest chair, her head slumped forward, chin resting against her collarbone. He pressed his index and middle finger to the pulse point on her neck. She'd revive in an hour or so. He wasn't concerned.

Without a glance behind him he stalked grimly out of the library. He couldn't wait for the day when her truth would come out. But he couldn't focus all of his efforts on deciphering her puzzling history. There were things he had to do, things he had to accomplish this year. He couldn't let one girl, who quite possibly might turn out to be no one special, meddle with his plans. He couldn't lose his head. The time would come, but until it did he had work to do.

Hermione woke to a tapping on her shoulder. "Ms. Granger. Wake up, Ms. Granger." Hermione drowsily opened her eyes. She was somewhere dimly lit. The familiar earthy smell of old books filled her nostrils. As her eyes adjusted she realized she was in the library at Hogwarts.

Before she realized Dumbledore was standing beside her watching her curiously her mind raced back to earlier that day when Tom had snooped around in her research on time travel. She knew he must be onto her. If she wasn't more careful things would start getting dangerous. She couldn't risk Tom figuring out she was from the future. As she continued to remember the events earlier that day she remembered Tom threatening her and near suffocating her. She remembered feeling absolutely fear. He had the look of a murderer in her eyes. He had nearly killed her she realized, subconsciously rubbing her throat. At least he had had the decency to place her in a chair, she though bitterly.

"Ms. Granger?"

Hermione jumped. She blinked a few times as she took in the sight of the younger Dumbledore staring at her intently. "Oh," she felt heat rise to her cheeks, "I'm so sorry professor. I must have, um, fallen asleep," she said quickly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "That's quite alright, quite alright," he smiled sincerely at her. "You're probably a bit tired from all the homework the professors here insist on giving."

Hermione smiled back. He had always been such a good-natured man. "Yeah," she sighed. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a thickly bound book – the tome on time travel. She instantly felt her heart speed up. Had Dumbledore seen it? She lurched to her feet, placing herself between Dumbledore and the book, she tried to look casual but she knew she probably look winded.

His brow furrowed a bit. "Is there anything the matter?" he asked kindly.

"N-no," she stuttered, coughing to cover her hesitancy.

"Well, in that case, I just wanted to come by and see how you were getting along. I was told by one of your friends, Mark, I believe, that I'd find you here."

Hermione nodded, desperately wanting him to leave so that she wouldn't blow her cover and make a complete fool of herself. "I am. I mean, everything is great. The students are …great," she finished.

"Good, good," he muttered thoughtfully. "If ever you need help with anything you can always come and see me."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks." She felt relieved as he began to walk away. She relaxed a bit but stiffened again as he turned back around.

He chuckled softly placing a finger to his temple. "I almost forgot," he said amusedly. "I'm getting on in my years you know, memory's not as sharp as it used to be."

Hermione swallowed nervously. She knew better. The Dumbledore from the future, sixty years from this day, was as sharp as a knife's blade.

"Don't get into the habit of making after hour visits to the Restricted Section. It is restricted for a reason. Even the most level-headed wizards lose good sense when confronted by intriguingly forbidden knowledge."

Hermione felt her face blanch. Dumbledore continued to smile his unfaltering bright smile. "Have a good rest of the day, Ms. Granger." And then he was gone, disappearing into the gloom of the library.

Hermione collapsed back into her chair. Of course he knew she had gone into the Restricted Section. He wasn't daft; nothing escaped him – ever. She would most definitely have to be more prudent. Hermione had been lucky this time that Dumbledore hadn't prodded her for answers. Had he requested answers from her she wasn't so sure that she'd have the resolve to lie to him.

For the rest of the week Hermione avoided Tom Riddle. In Potions class she sat beside Antonin and totally ignored Tom. He hardly ever bothered her, but at times she would catch him staring emotionlessly at her.

It was Friday and she was going to her last class of the day – Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was two weeks to the day when she had been transported somehow into the past. After reading Tegoni's book she had been given renewed hope. He had spoken about a 'Glitch in Time' and she was certain that was what had happened to her. She still intended on paying a visit to the Centaurs but she felt more confident knowing that she was a bit more educated on the topic.

She walked into class with Mark and Morgana. Jonas, George and Brittany were already there. In fact the majority of the class had already arrived. Hermione spotted Tom lurking in the far corner of the room surrounded by his comrades. She turned her back to him, frustrated. He was making her life miserable. Everyday she was scared of running into him alone. After the scenario in the library where he had almost choked her to death, she was hesitant to even be in the same room as him. But what bothered her most was how she had felt a dangerous thrill to be so close to someone so dangerous. Somewhere deep inside of her was a traitorous gene that had allowed her to enjoy the feeling of his breath on her skin and the feeling of his powerful hands.

The professor entered the classroom and the lecture began without her noticing. She was too preoccupied by the disturbing thought that despite Tom's wickedness he still had a certain unavoidable appeal about him.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Professer Graphus was asking.

Hermione blinked away her thoughts and focused on Professor Graphus. "What's happening?" Hermione asked Mark, guilty that she hadn't been paying attention to him.

Mark shot her a sideways smile. "I was wondering when your daydream would end."

Hermione smirked. "Seriously. What are the volunteers for?"

"He wants two students to duel as a means of refreshing the class on defensive spells we've learned," Mark explained. Hermione nodded.

"Anyone? Doesn't anyone want to give it a go? It's not for marks. This is just to refresh your memories. The summer has left cobwebs on your defensive spell know-how." Professor Graphus looked around at the hesitant faces. Some students were looking straight at the ground, pretending not to notice his prying gaze.

"I'll volunteer."

Hermione's eyes darted to Tom who was stepping forward, twirling his wand unconsciously through his nimble fingers. His eyes were the blackest she had ever seen them. She couldn't help but notice his hollow looking eyes. He looked tired, not that she cared, she thought hastily.

"Oh, good! Come on up, Tom. Come on," Graphus exclaimed excitedly. "Anyone else? Don't be shy."

Tom had a satisfied grin on his face as though he thought no one was volunteering for fear of facing him and knowing ahead of time that they'd face defeat. He was so disgustingly arrogant.

"I'm going to wipe that expression right off of his face," Hermione said bitterly, drawing her wand. She took a step forward catching everyone's attention including a pleased looking Tom, but a strong hand quickly pulled her back. Hermione looked at Mark, confused. "What's the matter?" she asked.

Mark frowned slightly. "I don't want you to fight him."

Hermione's expression softened. "I'll be fine. It's just for practice. He's not going to hurt me," she reassured him.

Mark shook his head with a small smile. "That's the thing, he will. Even with Graphus supervising. Tom is who he is. He takes every challenge to the next level. Its an unhealthy habit of his." Hermione lowered her wand to her side, unsure. She was aware that everyone was watching them, Tom included. "Besides, you're still recovering from…you know," he waved his hand suggesting her injuries from two weeks ago. "I'll fight him."

Hermione was about to stop him but he spoke up right away, cutting her off with an encouraging wink. "I'm up for a challenge, professor."

"Excellent! Excellent! Let's begin shall we? Remember, disarming spells only. We don't want any serious injuries," Hermione noticed, much to her own fright, Professor Graphus shoot a warning glance in Tom's direction. But Tom wasn't paying attention he was circling in step with Mark, wand raised. Hermione crossed her arms tightly across her chest. Her heart was beating so loudly she was afraid it would break out of her chest cavity should she uncross her arms. "Be careful," she whispered quietly.

Hermione watched, anxious, as the boys cast simple spells at each other and deflecting them. Nothing too advanced. She barely noticed Morgana, George, Jonas and Brittany talking in hushed voices beside her.

"What has he gotten himself into?" Jonas asked lazily.

"Tom's going to whip his ass," Brittany agreed with boredom.

Hermione spared a glance at them, reluctant to take her eyes off of Mark and Tom. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Morgana looked at her apologetically. "You weren't here, but last year we had a refresher class like this and Tom volunteered with this boy, Victor. Things got so heated that Victor ended up in the hospital with two broken legs. He left the school soon after."

Hermione was horrified. "Because of Tom?" she gasped, disbelieving. Morgana nodded gravely. Hermione was about to press for more information when a grunt of pain caught her attention. Mark was getting back to his feet, holding his shoulder, and looking thoroughly angry. Tom had an evil look on his face, conniving.

"Easy now, boys," Graphus cautioned.

Hermione glared at the impudent teacher. If Tom had injured a student last year then he should have known better then to agree to let Tom duel again. A series of 'Expelliarmuses and Stupefies' were being shouted. Hermione was getting antsier by the second. She could see the intensity building between the two boys.

"Deprimo!" Tom shouted. Hermione gasped. It was an unnecessary spell. The desk behind Mark exploded into thousands of wood chips. Mark covered his head to protect himself but Hermione could she the cuts in his arms from sharp flying wood chips.

"Professor!" Hermione exclaimed, infuriated.

"Yes, yes," he muttered. "Only relative spells Tom. That was unnecessary."

Tom shot Hermione a hateful look. "Don't worry Granger. I'm not going to hurt your boyfriend." Hermione glared at him. He grinned back. Momentarily distracted, by Hermione as he mocked her he was unaware of Mark as he cast the 'Expelliarmus' spell, disarming him. A look of sheer fury distorted his angelic features. His cheeks turned red.

"Yes!" Morgana shouted, clapping. Hermione smiled as well. Mark would be fine. It would be over now.

No one was expecting Tom's next move, especially since he was wandless. With his hand outstretched and palm facing an unsuspecting Mark, Tom cried, "Stupefy!" with venomous fury. Mark blanched in shock just before the powerful spell, enhanced by Tom's raw fury, struck him square in the chest sending him flying backwards into desks and knocking them over with the sheer force.

Hermione was not the only one to scream in horror. Everything seemed to pause as realization struck everyone. So Tom was capable of wandless magic, no surprise there. Everyone seemed so entranced by Tom as a snide grin graced his lips. But Tom was the last person on earth Hermione was interested in. She was staring in terror at the motionless body of Mark, sprawled over toppled over desks.

"Mark!" she gasped, running over to him. After a few more delayed seconds people began to notice Mark. Hermione was the first one to reach his side. "Oh, Mark." She quickly pulled out her wand. "Rennervate," she whispered. Mark's eyes slowly began to open, much to her relief. "Are you alright?" she asked.

Mark squinted his eyes as thought trying to gain focus of her face. "You're crying," he said simply.

Hermione choked out a pained laugh. She quickly wiped away the tears. "I didn't notice," she said with a smile. "I shouldn't have let you duel him. He's a poor sport."

Mark shook his head. "He played by the rules. There's nothing that says a student capable of wandless magic can't use it."

Hermione placed the palm of her hand on his warm cheek. "Then he shouldn't have volunteered. He knew you weren't expecting it. He didn't fight fair."

Mark got to his feet while supporting himself on her shoulder. "He did what he had to do to win the duel, Hermione. I'm not the best wizard at defensive magic. Don't hold it against him. People around this place hold too much against him already."

Hermione looked at him. _People around this place hold too much against him already._ That comment struck a chord in her heart. She knew how it felt to be the loner. She decided to address this statement at a later date. Right now her primary concern was Mark's well being.

"Does anything hurt?" she demanded, helping him to sit down at a desk that hadn't been overturned.

"No," he chuckled.

"Are you sure? Because if anything feels out of place, you know, you should get it checked," she insisted.

"I'm fine," he said firmly.

Hermione checked his pulse even though she had no idea how it could be used to tell if he was in good health. "Are your vitals feeling okay?"

Mark full out laughed. "What are you, my mother, Hermione? I'm perfect. Great. I feel pumped after that duel. I'm on top of the world." Just to prove it he got out of the chair and lifted Hermione off of her feet by her waist. He spun her around twice making her giggle childishly.

"Put me down!" she squealed. "You're making me dizzy!" she cried joyfully. He abruptly plopped back down onto her feet. The room spun for a second and she held his shoulder for support.

They were so caught up in their teasing that they hardly noticed that the class was over. She didn't notice Tom's ominous gaze lingering on her before he left the class, his goons of his heels.

Hermione slapped Mark playfully on the chest. "Let's get out of here. Maybe we could go for a walk or something?" she suggested, wanting to benefit from the warm temperature before the cooler winds started blowing fall their way.

"A walk would be great, actually," Mark said.

Hermione couldn't help but feel relaxed and comfortable for the first time in two weeks. She felt for the first time that perhaps there was a possibility she'd fit into this era. Perhaps she had a future in the past.

* * *

I hope you liked it. I'll try to post the next chapter ASAP! I'm looking forward to reading your reviews...if you review...which I really hope you do...because it'll make me happy...and I'll update faster...yeah. :)

INK xo


	4. An Unfortunate Mishap

I hope everyone enjoyed chapter three. I had a ton of fun writing it. Don't you just _love_ Mark? I'm sorry, I'm just so proud of him. He's like my own creation, my 'Frankenstein'.

:) I haven't failed to notice, though, that some of my reviewers are expressing concerns about the relationship between Mark and Hermione. Shall I leave a subtle clue? I like Mark, but not _that_ much.

To appease some of your worries, I'll begin to address the issue of Mark. I'm not going to give away all the juicy details of his life just yet, but you'll have a better idea of the type of guy he is.

Anyway, this chapter is even more intense than the last one. Things get heated between Hermione and Tom… "Hehehe," Ink says, rubbing her hands together mischievously.

Thanks for all the reviews! I totally appreciate that you guys take the time to comment on my story. It makes me feel loved. *Sighs with happiness*

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4 – An Unfortunate Mishap

Tom was frustrated. No. That was an understatement. He was incensed. He couldn't understand why he so easily allowed that girl to get on his nerves. He had just finished his rounds for the evening – it was ten o'clock. During the time on his own he hadn't been able to prevent his mind from reflecting on what had happened only hours earlier. He was still fuming from Defence Against the Dark Arts class when that stupid prick, Mark, had disarmed him. He who had never been until that moment disarmed by an opponent had been disarmed by that sorry excuse for a wizard of all people. It was Granger's fault. That meddlesome…He felt fury build within him. She had had no business telling Professor Graphus what was permitted in a duel or not. There he went again, letting that girl get the better of him. Curse her intolerable presence to hell.

What bothered him the most was that after he had resorted to wandless magic he had been rewarded with the admiration of all his peers save for Hermione Granger. It made him angry. He hadn't wanted anyone's praise. He had wanted _her_ praise, or in the very least he had wanted her to acknowledge his greatness even with a glance. The fact was she hadn't looked at him once. After he had defeated her precious little boyfriend or whatever he was to her – he couldn't care less – she had run to his side completely ignoring him. They had begun to laugh like infantile school children and it thoroughly annoyed him.

Tom's own bitterness was enough to overwhelm even himself. He despised that foolish little impudent girl more and more every day. He delighted himself by picturing how he would see to her demise. He would begin by wringing her fragile neck and then he'd leave her gasping for air on the ground, looking up at him with horrified, begging eyes. He'd unleash the cruciatus on her and watch with sadistic pleasure as she'd twist and convulse on the ground at his feet.

She would finally acknowledge his greatness with her dying breath. But he wouldn't use the killing curse on her. He wouldn't be merciful. He would kneel down beside her barely conscious form and wrap his slender fingers around her throat once more. He'd slowly suffocate her. She'd thrash and squirm but he was stronger than her. He'd enjoy watching the fiery brightness and life in her chestnut eyes fade to black. He wanted to feel her last breath on his skin, knowing he had been the one to conquer her soul.

He chuckled darkly, his dismal mood brightening a notch after his fanciful daydream.

"Something funny, Riddle?" came a familiar voice from over his shoulder.

Tom turned easily to see Antonin casually strolling towards him. "A private joke, you could say," he replied, a heartless smirk still gracing his lips.

"So, how about that halfwit Mark giving you a run for your money?" Dolohov sneered roguishly.

Just like that Tom's mood soured once more. Count on one of his companions to bring up annoying memories just to piss him off. Tom let out a low snarl. "He didn't give me a run for my money. I had won that match before I even volunteered," he corrected bitterly. "I was distracted by Granger, that's all. She had no business telling Professor Graphus what to do. I would have destroyed that fool in a heartbeat."

Antonin shrugged. "I know. You're not a stranger to murder, Tom."

Tom scowled at Dolohov's impudence. "Be quiet. You never know who could be eavesdropping."

Dolohov rolled his eyes. "You're paranoid. You of all people would know if someone unwelcome was in the vicinity." Antonin walked silently by his side for a moment. "So it looks like Mark finally got a girlfriend after seven years. He and that Granger girl seem pretty smitten."

Tom's brow furrowed in irritation. "My sympathies. That girl is intolerable." Tom tried to ignore the fact that it bothered him that Granger had so easily meshed into life at Hogwarts. She'd found acceptance in a mere three weeks and here he was, seven years later, still feared and distanced from his peers. Not that he minded, he supposed. He wanted to be feared for his power. He grimaced. Never before had his resolve about becoming Lord Voldemort dwindled, not until Hermione Granger had shown up at school. He knew that she had valuable information. He knew that he had to find out the truth no matter what.

Tom continued to stalk down the corridor towards the Head Dormitory, clearing his head of Hermione Granger. He knew Antonin hadn't come to see him for casual conversation. There was something else. "What do you want, Dolohov?" he demanded, pausing outside the entrance to his dormitory. The painting was of a woman from the early eighteen hundreds, currently dozing under a parasol, her hair blowing in the late summer breeze.

Antonin grinned and leaned on the wall with his arms crossed. "I think you might be interested, Riddle, to hear that I've heard a few juicy tidbits about Hermione."

Tom's heart sped up. What did Dolohov know? Was it his key to finally unlocking her secrets? Doubt crossed his mind. Was it just petty rumours invented by bored students. "How reliable was your source?" He refused to get worked up for nothing.

A mischievous shine shone in his eyes. "Let's just say that veritaserum never lies."

A cruel smile lit Tom's face. Why hadn't he considered slipping veritaserum into Hermione's drink before? Probably because he hadn't had the opportunity and because it was so difficult to obtain. "How did you get your hands on veritaserum?" Tom asked, feeling pride swell in his chest. So his efforts hadn't failed on his companions. He had taught them well.

"Slughorn was teaching the first years about it and had a small sample for an example. I stole it. He probably didn't even notice. I used it on her friend Mark."

Tom felt disappointment immediately. "Is there any left?" Dolohov shook his head. "Damn," he snapped. "We could have used it on Hermione."

Dolohov shrugged dismissively. "I did the best I could, besides, do you really think Granger would have fallen for that? She doesn't come across as one to take things for granted." Tom had to agree. She was a cautious individual. She could probably smell mischief from a mile away. "Now do you want to know what I learned or not?" he demanded.

Tom glared at him. "Watch your tone, Dolohov. I'm losing patience."

Antonin shuffled his feet under Tom's ominous glare. "Sorry," he mumbled. Tom nodded for him to continue. "So I slipped the potion into the dimwit's glass during dinner. I intercepted him in the hallway afterward and launched some questions at him. I only managed a few before he began to come to his senses. The dosage wasn't very potent."

Tom impatiently tapped his foot. "Get on with it, Dolohov. Despite the rumours that fly around this school, I do sleep at night for however brief a period."

"First thing I asked him was if he knew where Granger had come from. You know, what her real story is. He said the same old spiel she told Dumbledore. The one where she visited a friend, got mugged, and somehow was able to apparate to Hogwarts. I still don't believe it. Anyway. I asked him after if he knew if she was pureblooded or not. Guess what? Apparently she's a filth ridden Mudblood. I never expected her to be so low. Especially considering how she's so easy on the eyes unlike some of the wenches at this school. Man, to think I actually considered laying her. Mind you, I probably still could. Teach her a lesson, you know?"

Tom ignored Antonin's meaningless banter. She was a Mudblood? Scum of the earth? He was infuriated. How was it that a Mudblood could have gotten the better of him? Disgusting filth. He felt his resentment for her reach an all-new high. She was part of a soon to be dying breed. When he became all-powerful, her kind would be the first to go.

"So then I asked him what her interests were. He said she had interests with time travel. I pried a bit more and he said she was planning a visit to the Centaurs to ask them about time travel."

Tom blinked a few times as he absorbed this information. Setting aside the disgruntling notion that he now felt in the power of a Mudblood with a dangerous secret he thought on these tidings. He knew she was interested in time travel. In fact, the light in the woods had resembled a 'glitch in time', which had been discussed in the book Hermione had been reading the other day in the library. He was becoming increasingly more certain that she was involved in time travel. She had to be serious in order to risk a dangerous visit into the Forbidden Forest. The Centaurs were known to be bitter and temperamental. Fascinating. If she knew anything about time travel he had to know. Knowledge was power and manipulation of time was simply… a phenomenal feat.

HT

It had been a week since Tom and Mark's duel in Defence Against the Dark Arts class. She had avoided Tom since, too disgusted to look at him or even waste her breath cursing him. Instead she had focused on her relationship with Mark which had been blooming into a wonderful friendship, and on Tegoni's theory of a 'glitch in time' (which was what she was certain she had tumbled into).

She and Mark had been spending more time together just hanging out and doing homework together. He was an incredibly easy going guy and it was always a relief to escape the pettiness of hormonal adolescents and surround herself with such a level-headed individual. As it were, Mark hadn't come down for breakfast yet. It was just she and Morgana at their usual spot.

Hermione buttered her toast, thinking of her plans for the day. After dinner she'd change into something warm. The beginning of October had brought along abnormally chilly evenings. At around midnight she sneak out of the castle and make her way into the Forbidden Forest. Tonight she was planning on paying a very important visit. Tonight she would learn once and for all whether her hopes of ever returning home would be dashed away or renewed. Tonight the Centaurs would, with any luck, bestow upon her an ounce of wisdom or enlightenment on the topic of time travel.

"Hermione?"

Hermione jumped, startled. Morgana was looking at her expectantly.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked what you were thinking about just now. You looked unusually intense." Morgana gave her an easy smiled and speared a piece of her omelette, popping it into her mouth.

"Oh, nothing really. I was thinking of … home," she said quickly.

Morgana looked sympathetic. "Do you miss it?"

Tears stung Hermione's eyes. "I miss my friends." Her voice faltered at the end as she thought of Ron. She had been trying so hard for the past month to hide away his presence in her mind, but every now and then his memory resurfaced. How could she forget that easy smile and annoying humour, or that incredible bright red hair and freckled face? She loved him so much. He meant the world to her. When life had lost its worth and she had felt alone and without anyone to care for her he had come and swept her off her feet. He had loved her and cared for her. Her mind trailed to Harry and Ginny and all of her family and friends. She wished she could help them. She felt so powerless. If fate decided that she'd never see them again then she would make things right from the root of the problem. She would destroy Tom if she had to. Whatever it took.

A hand stretched out in front of her blurry vision. Morgana was holding out a handkerchief. "Thanks," Hermione mumbled, wiping her eyes and tear stained cheeks.

"That's okay. If I've learned one thing it's that keeping it in only leads to repressed anguish which could lead to sentiments of resentment or hatred."

Hermione blinked a few times, folding the handkerchief neatly into a triangle. She thought of Tom. She couldn't imagine what kind of anguish he was harbouring inside of his soul. It must be poisoning him. How can he live with such hate?

"Anyway," Morgana continued, sitting on the edge of the bench, "I wanted to talk to you about Mark."

Hermione was confused. "What about?"

Morgana glanced around the room as though checking to make sure he wasn't nearby. He hadn't arrived yet. "I know that it's none of my business but, I couldn't help but notice that you and Mark have become close, to say the least." She hadn't said it with a smile, rather with a sentiment of doubt colouring her tanned features.

"You say it as though it's a bad thing," was Hermione's cautious reply. She didn't want to hear gossip about Mark because the truth was that she knew him pretty well and she couldn't imagine a greater person, except maybe for Ron. But even then, Mark was so calm and had a great attitude about everything.

Morgana gave a faltering smile. "It's not. Mark's super nice but," she paused, choosing her words carefully, "I feel I should warn you not to be anything more than a friend to him. At least, you shouldn't see him as more than a friend."

Hermione snorted in disbelief. "If you think I like him as a boyfriend then you're sadly mistaken. I could only ever picture him as an older brother." Hermione cocked her head as an expression of relief crossed Morgana's face. "Do you like him?"

Morgana's eyes widened in horror. "Who me? Merlin no!" She coughed, trying to cover her outburst. "Sorry."

Hermione wasn't convinced. Why would she have brought up such a random warning about Mark? "I don't understand…"

"Look, as a friend I was concerned that you might get hurt should you realize you actually like him more then as a friend. The thing with Mark is that, well, no one can deny that he's the best looking guy at school aside from Tom's dark appeal." Hermione rolled her eyes at the mention of Tom's name. Morgana grinned deviously. "It's true!" she exclaimed. "Haven't you ever wondered what he'd look like without a shirt…or anything at all." Hermione's eyes widened and Morgana giggled. A disturbing image of a shirtless Tom glaring down at her with condescending eyes came to mind. She shuddered. "You wouldn't know this since you're new to the school, but, Mark has never had a girlfriend."

Hermione was surprised considering how the girls at Hogwarts seemed to fawn over him every waking minute. "What about outside of school?"

Morgana shook her head. "See, that's the thing. Nobody knows. Not even his best guy friends. He's very secretive and keeps his personal life private."

Hermione shrugged this news off. So what if he didn't want people nosing around in his business. She respected him for keeping his friends from intruding on his life outside of school. It wasn't anybody's business. "I don't see what the big deal is," Hermione said disinterestedly.

"Some people think he's…you know," she prodded as though afraid to say a certain word.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Gay?"

"Shh! Someone will hear you!" she exclaimed. Hermione felt angry all of a sudden but soon realized that in the forties people weren't as tolerant. "Not that I care if he's interested in guys or girls but I didn't want to see you get hurt."

Hermione leaned back on the bench, suddenly having lost her appetite. "Didn't anyone ever consider that maybe he's not interested in anyone at the school?" Hermione felt angry, not at Morgana, but with people in general for their stupidities. Was it so wrong for a girl to be friends with a guy without people thinking they're dating? "I'm not hungry," she said abruptly as she stood.

A look of guilt crossed Morgana's face. "I didn't mean to upset you," she apologized.

Hermione shook her head. "It's not you, I'm just, tired, I guess. I'll see you around." Hermione quickly stalked out of the dining hall and down the hallway. She had to get away from people in general. They were driving her crazy with all of their antics and pettiness.

The rest of the day went by relatively quickly. She arrived late to dinner in the Great Hall and was relieved to find the Hall mostly empty save for a few students dispersed randomly at their appointed tables. As she neared the Gryffindor table she spotted Mark sitting alone eating his dessert while pouring over what appeared to be a Potions textbook. She wasn't surprised. They had an essential test coming up that would count for most of the semester.

"Hey," she said jovially sitting down across from him. He looked up and smiled. "Studying for Potions?" she asked conversationally.

"Yeah, I just don't get this stuff. I'm bloody daft when it comes to Potions." He sounded winded as he ran his hand through his wavy locks.

Hermione bent forward on her elbows. "I could help you some time if you want. We could have a study session or something. You, me, and Morgana," she suggested as she attempted to read the textbook upside down.

When she looked up, Mark was staring intently at her. Hermione watched frozen as he extended his thumb and traced a circle below her left eye. She shivered from his cool touch. She met his gaze and saw the depth in his eyes. He smiled kindly before pulling away from her. Hermione swallowed uneasily.

"You look really tired," he said simply. "And you've been awfully quiet for most of the day. A lot on your mind?"

Hermione was still trying to overcome her senses after his careful touch. She didn't think he had done it in a 'more-than-friendly' way, but she still couldn't help but wonder what had brought upon the unexpected bout of affection.

"Kind of. I've been thinking about the kids at my old school," she lied. It bothered her how it was getting easier and easier to lie through her teeth. They lapsed into an awkward silence. It was the first time conversation hadn't flowed easily between them and it bothered her. Her mind was actually racing over the possibilities of what Mark's personal life might be like. Was he abused? Had he lost a parent? She wondered what had caused him to withdraw becoming intimate with other people.

She was desperate to end the daunting silence between them. "What did you mean the other day, after the duel, when you said that people around here hold too much against Tom already?" she was actually curious as to what could have possessed Mark to protect Tom from my curses and evil-wishing.

Mark blinked as though trying to recall the conversation. "I don't really know why I said it. I guess, well, people just treat him differently. They're afraid of him. I can't even try to understand what it must feel like to be feared by everybody."

Hermione sighed. "You know, Tom _likes_ being feared by students."

Mark nodded. "I suppose. I know that nobody cares and that people never think of Tom unless it's some guy who he's pissed off or some girl fawning over his good looks, but I think about him sometimes."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and a small grin graced her lips. He thought of Tom?

"Hey!" he snapped, reading her expression. "Not that way!" he laughed effortlessly. Cross out the 'gay' rumour. She smiled. "I mean, don't you ever wonder how someone could become so cruel and heartless? He must have gone through hell when he was younger. His parents probably never show him any affection. That's hard on a kid, you know?"

Hermione looked straight at Mark. "If he has parents," she said softly.

Mark nodded pensively. "Yeah," he sighed. "He's a messed up guy. I think he needs a real friend. Someone he can trust and talk to."

Hermione gave a weak smile. No one except she, Tom and Dumbledore knew about Tom's past. Being an orphan abandoned by his muggle father, and then returning to murder his dad and grandfather years later wasn't an ideal life for a teenager. Tom was beyond the help of a good friend. He needed serious psychological relief.

HT

Tom watched unnoticed from across the Great Hall as Mark traced his thumb beneath Hermione Granger's tired eyes. He felt his stomach churn with antipathy as he watched the couple that had utterly humiliated him at the duel. He was holding a grudge and he knew it was unhealthy, but he was used to it. Grudges were his friends. They kept his mind sharp planning how to get revenge.

He would have fun with those two idiots. He'd hit them so hard…

"Tom?"

Tom blinked away from the two Gryffindor students. He had plenty of time to deal with them. "Whay?" he snapped at Rosier. Rosier's nasal voice had always annoyed the living hell out of him. He sounded as though he constantly had a congested nose.

"Are we still on for tonight?" he pressed.

Tom stared at him puzzled. "What's tonight?" He'd been so tired lately from his work (work that remained unknown to everyone but himself) that he'd forgotten their plans for the night.

Nott rolled his eyes. "The Forbidden Forest, remember? We were supposed to catch that unicorn that Dolohov claimed he saw. Weren't you doing research on unicorn blood, Tom?"

Oh yes. Now he remembered. He stifled a yawn. Unicorn's blood. Immortaliy. All that jazz. "Of course. Give me a few hours. I need a break. At midnight we'll meet by the forest's edge, alright?"

He had given the order and there were no protests. He examined the eager faces of his comrades, pleased. They were going unicorn hunting.

HT

Hermione crept soundlessly along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was a quarter past midnight. Hermione had adorned herself in a pair of waist high black trousers and a tucked in white undershirt with a black cotton sweater. On top of that she had draped a black cloak over her small shoulders. The large hood had been pulled over her head, obscuring her face from an onlooker's view. She was certain that she was properly concealed in her black attire. Cheesy as it sounds, she blended into the night. She was just another whisper on the breeze.

Hermione had no idea how to locate the location of the Centaurs. In fact she was relatively positive that they wouldn't take kindly to her intrusion on their sacred land. She didn't dare take out her wand to light the path ahead of her. She didn't want to risk attracting the attention of any vicious forest creatures. Instead she allowed the natural light of the moon to guide her through the harrowing woods.

She had originally agreed to go to the forest accompanied by Mark, but she refused to allow him to risk getting in trouble or worse killed. A few days ago she had promised him that she had changed her mind about visiting the Centaurs. Thankfully he had believed her unconvincing lie. He had also told her the reason he was so paranoid about Centaurs.

When he was twelve, his aunt had been mauled by a rogue Centaur. She had nearly lost her life. Hermione had felt guilty for ever having questioned him about time travel and for awaking painful memories in Mark's mind. She couldn't imagine how traumatizing it must have been for him to almost lose a relative. From the way he spoke so fondly of his aunt it sounded as though she was really important to him.

By now Hermione had wandered quiet far into the Forbidden Forest. She had lost sight of the edge of the woods a few minutes prior and was moving further and further into its dark depths. The trees had started to become taller and more gnarled, obstructed her advances. A few times the sharp edge of a protruding branch had scratched at her face and caught on her cloak. She shivered against the night's unwelcoming chill. She hated to admit it, but she had lost track of where she was going and honestly had no idea of the time. She supposed, though, that the best way to find a well hidden colony of Centaurs was to get lost.

Several times as she stumbled through the undergrowth of the malevolent woods she had been convinced she'd heard steady breathing or a thump of hooves. But every time she'd attempt to spot an intruder she'd met dim , seemingly uninhabited woods.

She sighed as she pressed on, urged by her frustration. Her mind was ablaze. Why hadn't she better prepared herself? Why had she been so certain that these creatures would help her? How had she not seen the possibility of not finding them? As these thoughts flew across her mind she had forgotten to be alert of her surroundings. Unbeknownst to her she was approaching a cliff. As Hermione stepped into nothingness, losing her footing, she tumbled headfirst down the short but steep drop. Winded, she scrambled to her feet. The sight before her set her heart beating erratically in her chest.

A dozen Centaurs stood in circular formation around her, their spears pointed directly at her, cornering her against the cliff's slope. Hermione swallowed back the sense of dread that threatened to consume her. Straightening her posture and assuming what she hoped was a confident and poised stance she met the leader's icy gaze.

"What brings you into the Forbidden Forest, girl? Surely you know the dangers that may present themselves to rash intruders," said the leader resentfully. He was taller than the others present, with a muscled chest and arms. His horse half was darker than the rest as well, making his overall impression on her one of austere nobility.

"I'm a student," she said carefully. Could she really trust these creatures to be truthful with her? "Only from almost sixty years in the future." A low murmur erupted among the surrounding Centaurs. The leader's face remained severe, but attentive. "My name is Hermione Granger," she continued. "How shall I address you?"

The leader narrowed his eyes at her. "Bryath," he replied. "So you claim that you are from the future?"

Hermione nodded. "From a period of strife and war in the wizarding world."

The Centaur gave a rough snort. "I don't want to here about the future," he said angrily. "Divulging information about what is to come can alter the path of the universe. You would be wise to keep the future to yourself. Now I will ask you once again, what has brought into these parts?"

Hermione could sense his growing impatience with her. She quickly got to the point. "I've come to ask for your help. I know that your species is learned in the area of time travel."

"Outrage," Bryath growled. The surrounding Centaurs whickered and neighed in agreement, stomping their hooves into the ground with fierceness. "The human mind is too weak to comprehend phenomena such as time travel. Your kind's impudence and desire for power and knowledge is your downfall. You are driven by your selfish needs. It's offensive to think that our kind would stoop so low and be so idiotic as to disclose such private and sacred information."

Hermione paled in apprehension. She was beginning to feel as though she had made the wrong choice coming here. "Please. I didn't mean to offend you. I promise you I have no intention of tampering with time, if that's your concern. All I'm asking for is your help. All I want is to go home. I'm a stranger in this time."

The Centaurs expression softened almost imperceptibly. He gave a curt nod and gradually the Centaurs clustered into thee small clearing began to disperse into the woods. Hermione watched in anxious silence as they disappeared into the darkness and out of sight. "Hermione Granger; child of the future. Your circumstances are indeed regretful for I sense an inner strength and determination within you. I can feel that you are good witch without cruel intent. I fear there is not much that can be done to help you return to your home."

Hermione could sense genuine regret in his cold voice and felt her hopes fade to oblivious impossibility. "What about Tegoni? I read that he knew some things about time travel."

"That fool!" Bryath pawed the ground with a surprising ferociousness. "He knew _nothing._ He was an imbecile. Meddling with time travel is not meant for the mortals of our earth."

Hermione pressed her luck despite the raging Centaur before her. "He spoke of a glitch in time. I'm almost certain that that is exactly what happened to me."

Bryath glared at her. "A glitch in time is unpredictable, set of by inconsistencies between time warp speed. It's an abstruse concept that no one, not even the wisest of my kind can fully appreciate. Belief has it that powerful negative magic against positive individual spirit to overcome it will cause time to sever creating a glitch in time. But for this to happen the source of negative magic and individual spirit must be incredibly strong, a rareness among human kind. It's quite possible that this is what befell you in your time. Upon you entering the forest this night we could feel your own human spirit and willpower. It was remarkable, really. You were like a bright light entering a darkened woods, quite literally."

Hermione mulled over his words for a moment. Negative magic and positive willpower. It was all so confusing.

"If I may, was there a source of negative magic present the day the glitch appeared?" Bryath asked.

Hermione blinked back the painful memory of Voldemort's wand directed at her chest, his cold red eyes boring into her very soul. "The killing curse," she whispered in her mind. When Bryath nodded she realized she had said it out loud.

"That is unfortunate. The only way I can deem possible for you to return to your home is by replicating the instance when you arrived here."

Hermione's eyes brightened at this. "Really?" she exclaimed, hopeful.

Bryath's eyes turned sad and Hermione's hopes once again were dashed away. "Of course this poses a terrible risk. You would have to risk death and the chances of you replicating the exact emotions and feelings and strength of magic in the caster of the curse and in yourself is…"

Hermione lowered her gaze to the floor. "Impossible," she sighed in defeat. It didn't take a genius to know that no situation could be exactly reproduced. "Right. Well, thank you, I suppose," she said disheartened by the inescapable reality of her circumstances.

Hermione jumped when a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. She looked up into Bryath's eyes. She was staggered to see them looking upon her with kindness and respect. "I'm sorry I could not help you more then that, my child. I would not risk a soul as precious as your own has proven to be. You have our blessing."

With those parting words Bryath turned away and stalked into the darkness, disappearing as the other Centaurs had previously done. In a fit of anguish Hermione collapsed to the moist ground, tugging painstakingly at her thick brown hair. She began to weep tears of defeat. This was her new life whether she liked it or not. Never again would she see her dear friends from the future. She sobbed with wild abandon as images of her old friends flashed across her vision: Ron, Harry, Ginny, the Weasleys, her parents, her old teachers and friends. Gone. Just like that. All it had taken was her impending death and a bright flash.

HT

Tom ran a frustrated hand through his black hair. The evening had proven to be totally unproductive and uneventful. Not a trace of the unicorn had been seen. He had failed and he was thoroughly peeved, his once content mood now soiled by defeat. Bloody fools, he thought as his companions kicked rocks at each other.

"Can we go back, Tom?" Rosier whined. "It's freezing out here and I've no desire to catch pneumonia."

Tom glared at him. "Do what you want, Rosier. I couldn't care less," was his tart reply. He followed his companions as they headed back to school. He was brushing damp leaves from his cloak when the sound of weeping rose on the wind. It was a fleeting moment, but he was certain he had heard it. He realized how obnoxiously noisy his comrades were being, tearing through the brush. "Shh!" he chided.

They silenced themselves and stopped in their tracks looking at Tom expectantly. There it was again. It was a woman, a girl. "Did you hear that?" Nott asked.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Oh course I did you dimwit, that's why I told you to quiet down. You sounded like an elephant crashing through the ceiling."

Tom began to follow the sound as it lead him further back the way they'd come. He stepped out into a small clearing. The sound was clear now and he strained his eyes to see where the source was. As his eyes adjusted some more he spotted her. She was wearing a black cloak and black pants, her hood had fallen back revealing curly brown locks. He would have recognized that hair anywhere. He felt emotions rage through him. He wasn't sure if it was resentment, curiosity or a mixture of both. Hermione Granger was sitting on the moist ground, her knees clutched to her chest, shoulders shaking with each sob. How unattractive.

He stalked towards her as quietly as possible. Not that she would have heard him anyways over the sound of her own weeping. "Well look who's out on another after-hour excursion," he taunted bitterly.

Hermione looked up at him with bleary eyes. She scrambled to her feet, fear written all over her face. She quickly drew her wand.

Tom chuckled audibly. He could sense that his comrades had joined him. He tilted his head at her and shook his head disapprovingly. "What's it this time Granger? Got lost?"

Hermione's hand shook as she attempted to hold her wand steady. Tom could tell that she was struggling to keep her concentration after having exhausted herself with tears. "Get away from me," she breathed venomously.

Tom took his own wand out; a look of anxiousness crossed her features as she watched him inspect the smooth wood. "I suggest you put your wand away before you get hurt. You're clearly outnumbered," he drawled lazily.

Hermione's eyes blazed as he and his companions inched closer to her. Tom was anticipating her attack when she shouted, "Stupefy!"

He cried "Expelliarmus!" a second before her own incantation. He watched, pleased, as her wand flew into the tree behind her. He wandlessly 'accioed' the wand and pocketed it. He was disappointed to say the least. Usually she was quicker than that. Mind you she did seem tired and unfocused. He gave her the benefit of the doubt. He wasn't expecting what came next.

While he had pocketed her wand, Hermione had rushed at him. He only realized this when her small fist made contact with his gut. He stumbled back a step, winded. Rage flared within him as he watched a flicker of triumph flash across her features. She'd be sorry. She launched herself at him again, he assumed with the intention of punching his face, but he caught both of her wrists in each of his hands. He forced her back until she collided with a tree. He pressed his chest firmly against her own, holding her hands pinned above her. They were both breathing erratically. They were both infuriated.

"Where's your boyfriend now?" he sneered cruelly. Hermione squirmed against him. "Do you have a death wish?" he snarled.

"Let me go you asshole," Hermione scowled.

Tom was taken aback by her choice of word. He had never heard her say a vulgar word before. It delighted him to know that he had such an impact on her. He derived pleasure from getting her all riled up. He dropped her hands, releasing her.

Hermione stumbled a bit, looking surprised. She was about to step away from him but he had other ideas. He easily hooked his hands around the backs of her thighs. She gave a small yelp as he lifted her straight off the ground, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist. She grabbed onto his shoulders to support herself. He leaned their weight back into the tree. His face was now a mere two inches away from her own. "How's that, Granger? I find this much more comfortable."

He squeezed her thighs teasingly and was dazed when he was rewarded with a painful slap. His mouth gaped as he looked at Hermione. "You filthy little Mudblood," he snarled. Despite his fury he couldn't bring himself to react with violence as he would normally have done. They shared a fury induced gaze that took his breath away. He had underestimated Hermione Granger. She had cheek to slap Tom Marvolo Riddle.

His body reacted before his mind could really process that he'd been slapped for the first time in his life by a filthy blooded girl. Irate, he pushed his hips further between her legs. He was pleased to see her eyes widen. He glanced down at her heaving chest and was rewarded with a generous view of her cleavage beneath the black cotton sweater that was askew beneath her cloak.

Tom was so focused on Hermione that he hardly registered the cheering coming from his comrades. "Show her who she's really dealing with." "Teach her a lesson."

He did, however, hear Antonin's advice. "Fuck her, Tom. Maybe that'll teach her to respect her superiors."

Hermione began to tremble at Antonin's words. She was shaking her head fiercely, eyes pleading. "No. Please don't, Tom," she begged.

Tom was overwhelmed. A part of him was telling him to ravish the girl pinned between him and the tree. The other half told him he'd regret it. Rape wasn't his style. He always considered himself superior to those who performed deeds of sexual harassment. Men who raped women were low in his books. All Tom could really say at the moment was that between her begging, erratic breathing, heaving chest, clenched thighs around his waist and hands fisted with his shirt, he was completely disoriented. For the first time he didn't feel anger, resentment or contempt. Rather, he felt another emotion, more passionate than hatred. He felt desire. Not a product of any relationship he had developed with the inferior girl, but rather the desire that any hormonal teenage boy would feel to be in his position.

Tom was barely able to manage a gruff, "Give me a moment alone with her. I'll see you at school."

His comrades grumbled in protest but didn't disobey. They never did, he thought. Nott gave Hermione a hard smack on the bum before hurrying after Dolohov and Rosier. Hermione gave a small squeal and unconsciously rubbed herself against his sensitive groin. He winced as he felt an unfamiliar fire burning in his stomach. An undisturbed silence followed.

To the best of his abilities, he tried to ignore the burning desire he felt. "Did the Centaurs answer your questions on time travel?" he demanded in a low voice.

Hermione's mouth gaped in shock. "How did you know?" she demanded.

Tom grinned his devilish smile. "It's a little beauty called Veritaserum. Your little boyfriend didn't have a choice."

Anger flared in her eyes. "How dare you violate someone's private thoughts?" he scolded resentfully. "You're so disrespectful. You're disgusting!"

Tom stared intently into her eyes. The angle of the moon's light on her face accentuated her soft features and sharp jawbone. He carefully lifted a hand to push the hair from her face. He felt Hermione shiver under his touch, her hands tightening their grip on his shoulders. Driven by an unknown compulsion he tentatively brushed his lips against her cheek feeling the softness of her skin.

"Tom," she breathed shakily. Tom's lips lightly brushed against her ear lobe. "Don't do this, Tom," she pleaded quietly, trying to push him away.

Tom would have been too happy to oblige, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He had never experienced this type of desire before and it annoyed him to think that out of all the people he could have felt it with, it had to be the girl he despised the most.

A drop of wetness on his face seemed to awaken him to the reality of what he had been intending to doing. Horrified with himself for nearly violating one of his few principles and for succumbing to Hermione Granger's strange pull, he gingerly released her.

The rain began to fall more steadily now. Without a moment's hesitation they both ran through the woods. Upon breaking through the edge of the trees and into the open space separating them from the castle, the rain began to fall in torrents, soaking them through to the bone. Tom basked in the coolness and freshness of the rain as he ran, always a few steps ahead of Hermione. He needed this. He hadn't been himself for the past month and he was convinced the rain would help his old self wake up.

He paused for a moment inside the school's entrance, waiting for the Mudblood to catch up. He watched her remove her wet cloak. Her black ensemble clung to her small frame and her hair fell flat over her head.

Tom glared at her, the familiar feeling of hatred that he harboured for her returning. To think he had been attracted (for however brief a moment) to that soaking mop. He snorted. He had probably been attracted to the intrigue of her having a secret. Yes, that was it. It was the mystery of Hermione Granger that intrigued him, not the annoying girl.

"Stay out of my personal business, Mudblood," he snarled.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and he glowered at her. "I was out on my own business. If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one who intruded on _me_."

"Just stay out of my way," he said with finality. He didn't spare her a glance as he ambled to the Heads' Dormitory. He wanted to forget that this night had ever happened. Tomorrow he would be back to his old self. No useless Mudblood would get in his way. All he knew was that tonight's run-in with Granger had been an unfortunate mishap.

* * *

YAY! This was my longest chapter yet! See, I told you there be more Hermione/Tom action. But don't worry. Tom still hates Hermione and vice-versa. Their heated interaction was fluke – An Unfortunate Mishap – indeed…

I hope everyone liked it. It was fun to write. I was excited to write that scene with Tom and Hermione. I hope it didn't seem like too much or rushed.

Please read and review! As you all know I adore your comments and criticisms.

INK

xo


	5. A Ploy in Mind

I'm owning up to my shame. I am so incredibly sorry for abandoning this story. I lost inspiration a year ago and couldn't see a future for my Hermione/Tom story. A few days ago I went back to read the reviews people gave me on my story and I was both inspired and touched. So many people wrote kind and encouraging reviews and I realized that those of you who wrote reviews did so because you appreciated my story. I feel obliged to all of you who wanted me to continue the story to finish it. My interest in completing this story has been reignited. I'm not going to promise quick updates (every two weeks at most I hope). For those of you who still maintain an interest—this one's for you. I hope you enjoy. I feel guilty asking but, please review! Also, this story will be finished. I have taken it upon myself to outline the story up to the final chapter. So, please forgive me for abandoning all of you. ENJOY!

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**5 – A Ploy in Mind**

HPOV:

It was Saturday morning, the morning after Hermione' fearsome encounter with a certain brooding Tom Marvolo Riddle. She was convinced that her erratic heartbeat had still not regulated since then. As it were, having Tom unexpectedly stumble upon her in the woods during a moment of veritable vulnerability had not been ideal. After her run in with him after hours in the corridor all those long weeks ago, she had envisioned various scenarios as to how another meeting with him might result. She had never visualized it being so intense, or that it would induce such unorthodox desire within her.

The truth of the matter was that being in such proximity with Tom had changed her view of him. For one she had felt the most tangible fear since he – as a future Lord Voldemort – had attempted to murder her. But she had also felt another precarious emotion and it had entirely jeopardized her resolve to see to Tom's ultimate demise in order to prevent his future reign of terror from ever happening. She had felt compassion and – had it been humanity she'd sensed on his behalf?

Pinned there between the scaly bark of the tree and Tom's muscled chest she had felt something. She had felt a steady thumping, a heartbeat in time with her own. As her senses had heightened she had realized that it was his heartbeat. The impact of this realization had rendered her breathless. Tom was a man, a man plagued by hatred and an obsession with bloodlines. Aside from this though, he was hardly different from her, albeit a murderer as well. He was human, flesh and blood, and he – just like anyone else – deserved to experience and know love. Only, Tom had never known the indescribable sensation of pure, unconditional love. He didn't know what it meant to be loved unconditionally, no matter your faults. He'd never had the privilege of being able to come home day after day and be embraced by a doting parent.

She was still reeling from the sensation of Tom's lips against her cheek. Perhaps what had stricken her the most about their encounter was the thought that even Tom, a cold, heartless murderer, was capable of such tenderness. She felt chills run down her spine as she recalled the softness of his lips' caress. It was this thought alone that convinced Hermione that there was still hope for Tom, that somehow she might be able to draw out his tender, human side and rid him of his demons.

Hermione's heart wrenched uncomfortably in her chest. She didn't want to think of him today. The encounter was still too new to her and more often than not would result in a bitter battle between her logical mind and compassionate heart. Which to listen to? Her mind, and at all costs destroy Tom Riddle? No risk involved, except being caught—which was a major negative on her books—she wasn't a murderer. Or follow her heart and somehow teach Tom to love and leave his past behind. Following her heart would be risky and the chances of her being able to convert Tom onto a brighter path were slim to none, but it was more of her style than killing someone to prevent the terrors of the future from ever happening.

Sighing with defeat, Hermione rolled out of bed and put on a casual, mid-calf length, red dress with a white belt emphasizing her petite frame. She was still getting used to the fact the women in the 1940's mostly wore dresses all the time—she had always been a fan of jeans and cozy t-shirts. Scurrying down the dormitory stairs, she saw that the main lounge was relatively empty. It was Saturday and most students were benefiting from the extra time to sleep in. She crept towards the exit of the dormitory when a deep, recognizable voice interrupted her.

"Where are you off to now, Hermione?"

Hermione spun around to see Mark watching her intently from the bottom of the spiral staircase. He looked suspicious and doubtful. She could tell by the inquisitive glint in his eyes that he suspected her of something.

"Good morning to you too," Hermione replied. "I was just going for an early morning walk. It's getting colder and I want to enjoy the last of fall before the snow comes."

Mark nodded, unconvinced. "And I suppose you were also enjoying a walk late last night."

Hermione stumbled for words for a moment. Unsure of where he was going with his comment, she replied, "Um, yes, I suppose. It was so nice out that I couldn't help but enjoy the fresh air."

Mark nodded, his eyes twinkling knowingly. "I wouldn't normally categorize torrential downpour as 'nice weather'," he replied smartly, approaching her.

"Oh," Hermione managed, feeling heat rise to her cheeks as she realized her error.

Before Hermione could come to her own defence and spin another lie, Mark stopped her. "Look, Hermione, it isn't my business to pry into your personal affairs, but a word of caution, if you will." Hermione nodded. "The next time you go to see the centaurs, I implore you to bring someone along. You have no idea how dangerous they can be. That being said, are you all right?"

Mark's concern touched her. She nodded, biting her lip as she was overcome with guilt for having lied to him. "I'm just fine. Everything is fine."

Mark gently took her small, pale hand in his and squeezed it compassionately. "You know, you might fool everyone around you, but you don't fool me. I saw you come in last night. You looked like a wet rag. You were shaking and crying. I don't consider that being 'fine'. What happened?"

Hermione felt tears sting her eyes. Her heart was screaming for her to confide in Mark. She longed to unveil her secrets to him, to share the weight of her world with, to alleviate some of her own inner turmoil and fears. But she knew she couldn't. If Mark became too involved in her pursuit of enlightenment on the topic of time travel and in her mission to halt Tom's growing power and mercilessness he risked being in danger. No, she would keep everything to herself. It was better that way.

"Did the centaurs hurt you?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "No. the centaurs didn't harm me. They were gracious."

Mark squeezed her hand once more. "Then what happened?"

Hermione swallowed sharply. She wouldn't tell him the details of her mission, but she could at least partly tell the truth. "I ran into Tom and his goons on the way back. They were being their usual deviant selves. I was shaken up, but I'm fine now. I just needed time to calm my nerves."

Mark let go of her hand. "Alright. I believe you."

Hermione's heart fluttered, relieved. "I'm glad. I really appreciate your concern, Mark. Truly."

The pair of them began on their way out of the dormitory and down to the Great Hall. Mark reminded her that today was a Hogsmeade visit. Hermione hadn't gone to the prior ones, she had been too preoccupied with her own problems, but today was different. She wanted to start over and attempt to be like any other student at Hogwarts. She would go and enjoy herself and have a great time with Mark. At least, she hoped she would.

At around nine o'clock, Hermione and Mark met up with Morgana, Brittany and Jonas and together the five friends headed down to Hogsmeade. It was relatively chilly outside and Hermione pulled her scarf tighter around her neck.

"Is this your first visit to Hogsmeade?" Morgana asked, directing her question to Hermione.

"Oh, no—I…I mean yes. Yes, it is." Hermione cast her gaze downward, panicked a bit after almost forgetting to keep up her charade.

"You'll love it. You have to go to Honeydukes, of course. Oh, and The Three Broomsticks as well. They have the best butterbeer!" Brittany exclaimed. Hermione smiled in return at her enthusiasm. If only they knew how many times in her past life she had frequented those shops, all of the memories she had of them. She quickly wiped away a stray tear before anyone could notice her sadness.

Jonas began talking about Zonko's and a new music shop that had recently been opened since their last visit and Brittany began to ramble on about some clothes boutique. But Hermione's mind was elsewhere in a far off place. The only thing that managed to distract her from her thoughts was the sight of a small hut at the base of the hill—Hagrid's hut. Hermione's eyes widened as she recalled how two years ago, 1942, would have been the year Tom released the Basilisk and framed Hagrid. Chills ran up Hermione's spine at the thought of seeing the young Hagrid. She had to be sure.

She turned her attention to Mark who was walking on the outside of the small group, not participating in Morgana, Brittany and Jonas' friendly banter.

"Hey," she called.

Mark looked up at her. "Everything okay? You look pale."

Hermione nodded. "Who lives there?" she asked, pointing to Hagrid's hut.

Mark's eyes darkened as he followed Hermione's finger and returned his gaze back to her. "It's not a pretty story, but I suppose you'll want to hear all about it," Mark replied, raising a quizzical brow.

Hermione only smiled.

It was as she thought. Mark told her a story she knew too well. How a student. Myrtle, was murdered by a beast and how Tom accused Hagrid of having committed the atrocious deed by revealing his secret pet—a giant spider he called Aragog. Mark didn't believe Hagrid was guilty, in fact he suspected Tom of the murder but wasn't about to question the dangerous student. Anyhow, he went on to explain how Hagrid had been expelled but how Dumbledore had been generous enough to allow him to live on the grounds and work as groundskeeper.

Hermione was eager to visit her old friend and possibly become better acquainted with the young Hagrid. She dearly wished to feel one of his suffocating but friendly hugs. It was moments of familiarity like this that helped fill that nagging emptiness in her chest.

* * *

TPOV:

Tom groaned inwardly as he rolled out of bed. The sun was streaming through the window of his private room in the Head Boy and Girl's dormitory. He cursed under his breath as he pulled his pillow over his face, shielding his eyes. After last night's encounter with Hermione he hadn't been able to sleep more than an hour. He kept on replaying the scenario in his head. The more he thought about what had transpired between the two of them, the angrier he became. He was ashamed of his lack of self-control. Never before had he come so close to forgetting his purpose—his dislike of impure blood that should have, upon normal circumstance, caused him to distance himself from those of tainted birth, like Hermione. But for some reason that he had yet to fully understand he had done the opposite last night. He had been drawn to the girl he was tormenting.

Frustrated, Tom sat up abruptly and flung his pillow across the room knocking over a decorative vase. He was determined to reaffirm his position concerning Hermione. He needed to prove to her and most importantly to himself that he would not tolerate her secretive ways, that she was the bane of his existence.

He quickly stripped off his sleepwear and adorned a brown pullover with a pair of grey slacks. It was Saturday, a Hogsmeade visit. He would take advantage of this visit to clear his mind and regroup. He had to get his priorities straight. He stepped out into the hallway of the dorm's upper floor. The Head Girl's door was open, the room empty and bed unmade. His one pet peeve was untidiness and his fellow Head Girl was as messy as they come. He rolled his eyes in annoyance and with a flick of his wand made the bed. He had no grudge against the girl, mostly she just flew under his radar. She kept to herself and he rarely saw her, and that was how he liked it.

Tom met up with Antonin, Nott and Rosier outside the entrance hall and together they began the trek to Hogsmeade. Antonin was the first to break the silence that had fallen over the small group.

"So what happened with the girl last night?" he pried.

Tom cast his closest companion a wary sideways glance. "Nothing you would classify under interesting, I'm sure."

None of his comrades pressed further. The rest of their trek was spent in silence. Tom could not help but let his mind wander to the events of last night. He could still feel the warmth and softness of Hermione's cheek on his lips. His stomach did an uncomfortable flip. He wanted to wreak havoc, anything to rid himself of any unsettling thoughts about her.

Once in Hogsmeade Tom and his comrades went to the Three Broomsticks to order some butterbeers and talk about plans for the future.

* * *

HPOV:

Hermione and Mark had long since split from Morgana, Jonas and Brittany. Hermione had gone with Mark to pick up some Quiddich supplies. Hermione hadn't gone to any Quiddich matches and only recently found out that Mark was a beater for Gryffindor. She was looking forward to watching one of his games. When they finished with the Quiddich equipment shop Mark turned to Hermione.

"Where to next?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. "Whatever you like."

Mark chuckled. "I don't think so. You need to break out of your gloomy mood so we're going to do what you want. I'll even go dress shopping with you if that's what it'll take to make you genuinely smiled."

Hermione did smile then. "Okay. Actually, I wouldn't mind picking up a good book to read. The novels at school are pretty dry."

"The bookshop it is," exclaimed Mark, taking her hand and leading the way.

The bookshop was relatively quiet, clearly not a popular shop for students from Hogwarts. Mark went to buy her a tea from The Three Broomsticks a few shops down. As Hermione scrolled through the various titles of classics she had read dozens of time she fell across several Jane Austen novels, with a small smile she pulled out _Pride and Prejudice_, one of her very favourite novels. Pleased with her choice she made her way to the cash. At the front desk three girls that Hermione recognized from school were ahead of her. One girl was tall, thin and blonde. She was Clarisse Foreman, the Head Girl who shared a dormitory with Tom.

Hermione couldn't help the small smile that crept to her lips. She felt bad for anyone who was forced to see Tom day in and day out. She couldn't imagine sharing a dormitory with Tom, let alone having a bedroom across the hall from him. She didn't think she'd ever be able to sleep peacefully with the knowledge that she was living with a murderer. And that was the moment when she was hit with a brilliant, but dangerous idea.

Hermione handed her book over to the cashier and watched the Head Girl strut out of the bookshop. She knew what she had to do in order to keep a closer watch on Tom. She would send threats to the Head Girl. She would scare her so efficiently that she'd have her resignation on Dippet's desk in a fortnight. Hermione felt a thrill run through her. She had never thought up such a cruel plan but it was a necessary advancement that she had to make.

She eagerly purchased the book and stepped out into the cool afternoon chill. Autumn was well on its way and the leaves had begun to turn various shades of red, yellow and orange. Their golden colours reminded her of a sunset and she found herself smiling at her thoughts, which for once did not concern Tom Riddle and the despondency of indefinite separation from her friends.

Hermione was so taken in by the stunning autumn scenery that she failed to notice Tom Riddle and his thugs approaching her from the opposite direction, clearly with malicious intent in mind. When she did happen to notice, she stopped short, her gaze instantly averted to the small limp form he was clutching in his strong hands. She let out an inaudible glanced and turned a wary eye to Tom's face.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, she could hear the sharp bitterness in her tone.

"It's nice to see you too, Granger," was his mocking reply.

Hermione glanced back at the form in his hands. He was holding a stunned mourning dove. Hermione felt her heart wrench uncomfortably as she observed it's limp form. She could relate to the poor beast. She knew what it felt like to be helpless in the power of a monster—Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Angrily, Hermione spoke up, "Let it go, Riddle. It's just a bird."

Tom tilted his head to the side and held the small dove up to his eye level. Horrified, Hermione watched, shocked, as he snapped the creature's neck with the flick of his finger. Hermione's gut wrenched in fury as she was reminded of the fragility of life and of Tom's atrocious ways. She was sick to her stomach. She had had enough of Tom and his heinous ways. She needed to make it known to him now that she wouldn't tolerate his horrendous deeds and deliberate acts of cruelty. She was done with taking the back seat and hoping words of wisdom would reform Tom. No. She had to take action—he wouldn't get away with this. Her pride and her sense of justice wouldn't allow him to evade the situation without getting a taste of what she was capable of. Tom wasn't the only one adept with his wand.

* * *

TPOV

Tom watched, amused, as Hermione quickly drew her wand, defensive. He knew he had triggered something inside of her, perhaps her ridiculous sense of moral integrity. Pleased to have gotten the mudblood riled up, he tossed the lame corpse of the mourning dove somewhere to his peripheral and stealthily drew his own wand, the lean and long, black weapon shone in the late afternoon sun. He oozed confidence, knowing full well that a mudblood would never be able to outdo him in a match.

"You repulsive fiend!" Hermione snarled, as they began to circle, sizing each other up.

"Sticks and stones, Granger," Tom cooed mockingly.

He was anticipating her first move and effortlessly deflected her disarming spell with the silent flick of his wand. He watched, pleased, as Hermione's face blanched in realization that he had truly mastered his power. He could break every last bone in her body without so much as breaking a sweat.

Her next spell was 'Stupefy', but he deflected it as well. Following this were several minutes of disarming and stunning spells meant to tire him out. He wasn't the least bit strained, though. Then suddenly her spells stopped and he met her fiery gaze. The intensity of her gaze was fierce upon him, so much so that he thought she would burn holes through his skin. Her cheeks were flushed red with fury and her hair whipped wildly in the mid-autumn wind.

"Stupefy!" Tom cried passionately. Hermione deflected his curse and quickly cast her own defensive spell—which he deflected just as easily as she. They were matched, spell for spell for some time. How much time, he couldn't say. It seemed to him that time was moving too quickly to keep track of it.

"Avis!" Hermione cried with vehement force. Tom was taken aback by the choice of spell and fumbled over his own defensive spell as a flock of a dozen or so sparrows were unleashed upon him with a vengeance, furiously harassing his face and clothes. He quickly covered his face with his hands and winced as he felt the small beaks tearing at his flesh. He couldn't help but think bitterly how this was annoyingly appropriate retribution for having killed that mourning dove.

When he found his bearings, Tom waved his hand, banishing the birds in a puff of ash. "Expulso!" Tom roared, as his anger reached an ultimate high point. He was sadistically satisfied when a fair sized stone a foot away from Hermione exploded. The mudblood gave a whimper of anticipation as the jagged shards of stone scarred her flesh. Her face and hands were marked with scratches oozing her bright red blood. He remarked how one particularly large scratch stretched the length from her chin to her ear. He winced, knowing that she was probably in quite a bit of pain. He doubted himself for a moment, puzzling over whether he had gone too far, or if perhaps she had had enough. He scowled at his weak resolve but was newly spurred on when Hermione regained her balance and cast a bluebell flames spell, setting the hem of his cloak on fire. The blue flames had singed the bottom half of his cloak and were travelling abnormally quickly towards his arms and face.

Without a moment's hesitation Hermione was casting another spell. This time her spell was 'furnunculus', a rather unpleasant hex that causes boils to break out on the victim's body. Tom stealthily dove away from the hex, while simultaneously casting an extinguishing charm to counter the flames devouring his cloak. He heard one of his fellow Slytherins grunt uncomfortably as the hex hit them. He wasn't going to turn back to see who, he was too intent on putting Granger in her place, but from the sound of the voice alone he assumed it was Rosier. That boy was always in a daze.

"Have you had enough Tom?" Hermione taunted. "You were almost toasted just then."

Tom growled at her impudence. "You'll regret this, Granger. Your audacity will only see to your own failure."

"I wouldn't be so sure Tom. You know overconfident people often deceive themselves."

With that Tom cast another stunning charm only moments before Hermione cast her own. Frustrating he eyed a somewhat protruding root behind Hermione. He wandlessly and silently uprooted it and then cast a series of hexes and stunners, forcing Hermione back with every spell until finally her heel collided with the root and she toppled over backwards. Technically he hadn't cheated, he reassured himself. If there was one thing Tom took seriously, it was upholding one's honour on the battlefield.

Hermione gave an audible gasp and Tom lowered his wand, turning down his guard. With one last attempt at redeeming herself, Hermione cast a defensive charge, catching Tom completely unawares. His body convulsed and jolted as the small but painless shocks ran through his body. He fell to his knees, still shaking and newly disoriented. He watched, keeled over, as Hermione began to walk towards him. He looked up at her as his vision and thoughts cleared. She was smirking rather smugly at him. Feeling himself being overcome by rage, he stiffly rose to his feet. "Cru-," but he never managed to seal the deal. Hermione's eyes widened in horror, but the sound of Albus Dumbledore's enraged voice cut him off mid-incantation.

"What is the meaning of this?" Dumbledore demanded.

Tom finally tore his gaze away from Hermione's and he realized for the first time that they had an audience surrounding them. A dozen or so students had gathered both curiously and fearfully to observe their duel.

Tom scowled at them all. He couldn't believe he'd been caught duelling with another student without permission. He was the Head boy and he knew the repercussions would be severe. Likewise, Hermione also turned to face Dumbledore and Dippet who were walking steadily down a small hill towards them. What made the situation worse, however, was the fact that he—Tom Marvolo Riddle—had utterly failed at defeating Hermione Granger, in fact he had been made vulnerable by her defensive shock. Vulnerability was a word that did not agree with him. He had never, ever, in his life felt vulnerable, not since his days as a young boy at the orphanage where he grew up.

"What do you have to say for yourselves?" Dippet demanded, clearly furious. When neither of them replied he eyed them disappointedly. "Well? You must have something to say that will explain your appalling behaviour to me."

Tom swallowed back his pride. "I take full responsibility for my actions, Professor. I know they were inappropriate. Although, I can't speak for Ms. Granger," Tom cast an apathetic glance over his shoulder and the mudblood in turn stared scathingly back before stepping forward and responding to Dippet.

"I apologize as well, Professor," was her curt reply.

"Yes, well, the damage is done and I am bitterly displeased with both of you. I had higher expectations, even for you, Ms. Granger. You have been privileged to be accepted in Hogwarts considering your questionable past, or lack thereof," Dippet said, his voice laced with disappointment and scorn.

Tom watched curiously as the girl beside him flinched under the accusation. "It won't happen again, sir," she assured him, looking defiant.

* * *

HPOV:

That same night Hermione found herself in Professor Slughorn's office, helping him grade papers in the usual detention fashion. Hermione had gotten the easy punishment—spending a Saturday night correcting essays was a walk in the park. Tom, on the other hand had almost lost his Head Boy badge. He deserved to be stripped of his title, but that would have ruined her plans to become Head Girl in order to keep track of his activities. Dumbledore had convinced Dippet to let this one slide, stating that we had both expressed our sincere regrets for our actions and that something like this would certainly never happen again.

Within the two hours she'd been there, Hermione had already gotten through the better part of the potions essays. They were first year papers on Amortentia. Some were quite impressive while others clearly required some fine tuning.

As time drew on, Hermione felt the need to fill the silence with some easy conversation. "So, how long have you been teaching for, Professor?" she asked.

Slughorn looked up from his stack of essays, his bug eyes magnified behind his large glasses. "Well, seven years now, actually." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "In fact, I remember my first day teaching as though it were yesterday."

Hermione put down her correcting quill, wiggling and stretching her cramped fingers as she leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden chair to listen.

"It was my very first Potions class and I was teaching the first years, which made it their first lesson as well. I became attached to one student in particular." Slughorn chuckled at a silent joke. "Your partner in crime, it would appear."

Hermione blanched. He was talking about Tom. Obviously he would have been told how Tom and I got into a brawl in Hogsmeade. Hermione felt nervous all of a sudden, unsure if she wanted to learn about the young Tom Riddle.

"Tom and I became very close. He's an orphan, you know," Slughorn added. Hermione knew too well. "Anyway, he was a sad little boy. He distanced himself from other students, isolated from school activities, social relationships. He was afraid of attachment, or unable to comprehend what attachment meant."

Hermione imagined Tom in her mind. A short, baby faced boy at the time with tousled black hair and dark eyes that held an indescribable sadness. His pale skin would have been near translucent. Hermione fought tears that burned her eyes. She didn't know where they came from. Perhaps it was the image of a boy whose lack of affection growing up would lead him to lose his innocence and turn him into a murderer obsessed with blood purity.

Slughorn had continued speaking and Hermione tuned back in. "…his family. From a young age he displayed an uncanny fascination with blood lines. He was impassioned by little else but that and magic. Did you know he was only thirteen when he cast his first wandless defensive spell?" Slughorn asked proudly. "To think he had only learn he was a wizard two years prior!"

Hermione shook her head, deep in thought. She was very aware of Tom's finesse with magic. This year would be vital if she had any chance of altering Tom's future. Every day he was becoming more and more acquainted with dark magic. Every day he was spiralling further and further into an inescapable abyss of murderous intent and cruel tendencies.

That night, after she finished correcting essays for Slughorn, she sat down and wrote her first threatening letter for the Head Girl, Clarisse Foreman.

* * *

TPOV:

Tom had never paid much attention to Clarisse Foreman, his fellow Head Girl. It had only been a month and half since the beginning of school and she tended to avoid their dormitory. Often she slept in the Ravenclaw dormitory just to avoid him. Not that it bothered him. Having the Heads' Dormitory all to himself was an added bonus. But lately she'd been acting odd.

A week ago she'd begun getting antsy around him and most everybody. She even skipped classes, which was out of character for her. Ever since first year she had been known as the snobbish A+ student.

It came as somewhat of a shock to him when, two weeks into October Clarisse's belongings were being removed from her room. When the Head Girl walked in that evening to pick up any of her belongings that were straying behind, his curiosity got the better of him and he had to ask.

"Clarisse," Tom called coolly. He smirked when the girl jumped at the sound of his voice.

She glared at him. "What could you possibly want, Riddle?" she demanded vehemently. "I thought you'd be thrilled to have finally gotten rid of me."

Tom raised an eyebrow in confusion. "I beg your pardon?" he asked. "Why would I inconvenience myself with something as petty as getting rid of you when you don't even sleep here?"

Clarisse froze and looked at him with a shocked expression on her face. "You mean," she paused, wringing her hands together, "you weren't the one sending me the threats?" she breathed.

Tom tilted his head with interest. Someone had been threatening her. "What kind of threats?"

Clarisse looked about nervously and stepped closer to him. "I've been receiving threats through anonymous posts for the past week. Dippet had no luck tracing the letters. He thinks it's someone at the school. I thought it was, well," she nodded her head at him and Tom chuckled darkly. If he wanted to threaten someone, letters wouldn't be the mean. He'd confront them face to face, just like he'd done to Granger on numerous occasions so far this year.

"Anyway," she mumbled, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "It was fun while it lasted, kind of. My marks started dropping anyways. I knew it wouldn't last."

And then she walked away. Tom watched as the now ex-Head Girl step out of the portrait hole and closed it behind her for the last time. Tom wasn't disappointed by the loss. He was actually thrilled that someone was devious enough to send threats to the Head Girl. Tom couldn't help himself from speculating who might have written them as he made his way down to the Great Hall for dinner.

He sat with his comrades and told the about the threats. They were amused by this news as well. When dessert was served Dippet took the podium.

"Your attention, please," he called. After waiting patiently for a moment, the chatter in the hall gradually subsided. "As some of you may know our Head Girl, Clarisse Foreman has decided to step down from her position as a result of several disturbing events that have been occurring to her for the past week. Ms. Foreman was the recipient of several threatening letters asking her to step down. If any of you should have any knowledge concerning these threats, I beseech you to come and speak with either myself or Professor Dumbledore."

Tom scanned the heads of students seated in the Great Hall. His dark eyes landed on Hermione Granger. He felt a nagging tug in his stomach. She was watching Dippet with a stony face that concealed all emotions. He couldn't help but allow his eyes to trace her soft and rounded profile and waves of curly hair. Darting his eyes away from her he cursed the disconcerting sensation in his stomach and turned back to Dippet.

"…should be interested in signing up, please come to the front of the hall. I will gladly take you names." Tom watched Dippet step back from the podium and walk down the three steps, waiting at the centre of the hall for candidates. Quiet chatter broke out as the students anticipated which girls might take up the offer after the last Head Girl had resigned because of threats.

Two girls rose. The first Tom recognized as one of Clarisse's friends. She was tall and blonde like Clarisse and probably just as annoying. She'd definitely be a lacklustre Head Girl. The second girl was a Slytherin—Veronica Pence, minor improvement over Clarisse's friend. She wasn't as troublesome as the other Slytherins but she was far from being one of Hogwarts' brightest witches. The two girls walked up, some fifteen feet distance between them. Disinterested, most of the students turned their attention to the decadent chocolate pudding dessert that had been provided.

Disappointed with the two girls, Tom was about to enjoy his dessert when a slight movement from across the hall caught his eye. He narrowed his eyes as Hermione Granger stood and placed her cloth napkin on the table. She shared a few words with her friends, Mark, the pretty boy, and Morgana, before making her way up the long aisle. He couldn't help notice how she bit her lip nervously, seeming to shake with nerves as she progressed down the hall. Now he was interested. He couldn't help but think that despite the fact that Granger had only come to Hogwarts a month and a half ago she had already shown great potential and was undoubtedly one of Hogwarts' finest students. He was positive that no other student would have ever lasted as long as she had against him last week in Hogsmeade.

He watched her give her name to Dippet who smiled and nodded at her. He grinned maliciously. He knew who his favourite candidate was and he had a feeling she'd join him soon as Head Girl. And when she did, he would have one hell of a bloody good time tormenting her. He had a cruel ploy in mind.

* * *

So there it is! I hoped you all enjoyed it. This chapter was a bit shorter than the previous ones but I hoped the content made up for it. Let me know what you think. I appreciate and comments and criticisms!


	6. A Hand Over His Heart

Greetings!

I know I said I'd update sooner but summer happened and, well, you know how it goes I suppose. I apologize for the delay but thank you all once again for standing by this story and reviewing. I am honoured and appreciative of all of you.

That said, I have finally posted some information on my profile page, should any of you be so inclined as to learn a bit about me. I may or may not add to my profile—I'm considering throwing in some of my favourite quotes and aphorisms, but I have yet to decide on that.

Anywho, chapter six is finally up and it took me FOREVER to write it. I had it all outlined but for some reason I hated it. It was too shallow and felt more like a filler chapter (I hate fillers!) for me and I scrapped it. So, following a major bout of severe writer's block, this is what I came up with. I sincerely hope you all enjoy it. Please leave me comments and suggestions, whatever you like (please be easy on me though, I had a tough time with this chapter)!

_I don't own any of the characters, if I did that would make me J.K. Rowling, and that, my friends, WOULD BE TOTALLY AWESOME!...Starkid Potter much, anyone? _

* * *

6. A Hand over his Heart

HPOV:

An entire weekend had passed since Clarisse Foreman had resigned as Head Girl. Hermione was eager to see if the announcement would be made that morning at breakfast. She was up long before everyone else in anticipation for Dippet's announcement. After sizing up her competition, Hermione felt confident that she'd probably make the cut. Not to be cocky or anything, but everyone knew—or at least in the future everyone knew—that she was the brightest witch of her age. Much to her chagrin, Dippet did not declare the new Head Girl that morning. Frustrated, Hermione trudged to her first class of the day which was Potions with the Slytherins.

Hermione marched begrudgingly through the dank, chilly dungeons. Mark was ill this morning and Hermione had insisted on skipping classes to help nurse him back to health. He had laughed at her and told her he'd report her for skipping. Of course she had ulterior motives—like avoiding Tom at all costs. For the past eight days following her duel with Tom she had gone to great lengths to keep her distance from him. In Potions class, when she was obliged to sit with him and Dolohov, she'd always put Dolohov between them as a buffer. Lately she found herself contemplating Tom's psyche and she was afraid she was becoming too emotionally invested in her hope to deter Tom from manifesting into the evil entity he would one day become.

She had always been one to seek the righteous path and she had a habit of giving people the benefit of the doubt. She was finding it difficult to remind herself that Tom was an abominable, murderous young man who had already committed heinous crimes. She tried to convince herself that she couldn't treat him the same as the other people she had helped in her past life because he had surpassed corrupt and clearly had no desire to be 'helped'.

These doubts and inner struggles had arisen last night. Hermione had gone for a walk after curfew. Her mind had been ablaze with painful memories of Ron and Harry, her parents and her friends—all wonderful people she knew she'd never see again. She had been wandering the castle aimlessly and had found herself standing in the entrance of the owlery. Hermione hadn't seen him at first but soon enough she was able to distinguish him some ten feet away, leaning precariously over the edge of one of the owlery's Romanesque arched windows, his gaze serene, his facial expression tranquil. At that moment it had truly struck her how human Tom looked and she had found herself doubting herself once more. Her greatest fear was that she'd somehow fool herself into treating Tom like a victim in need of guidance, rather than a murderer who needed to be deterred. She couldn't get soft around him.

Morgana caught up to her several feet away from their Potions class, and began chatting away animatedly about whatever she could think of. Hermione was missing the comfortable silence that she normally shared with Mark as they walked together between classes.

"So has Tom caused any trouble lately?" she asked.

Hermione shrugged, not really in the mood to discuss him. She would much rather delay any mention of him until she had to sit with him in Potions class. Not wanting to be rude, she merely shrugged. "Not really."

"You've been avoiding him," Morgana stated knowingly. "And with good reason too, I suppose, especially after his stunt in Hogsmeade. Honestly, when I saw the look on his face I was sure he was contemplating murdering you."

Hermione cast a doubtful glance at Morgana, who had fallen silent, a thoughtful expression gracing her face. There was no question in her mind that Tom had indeed been tempted to murder her, or at least inflict more harm on her than he'd had the opportunity to.

They entered their classroom which was rapidly filling with students from both Gryffindor and Slytherin. Morgana split from her and went to sit with Brittany and Jonas who were deep in conversation. Hermione expelled a laboured sigh as her eyes roamed the room, landing on the backs of her partners' heads. She dragged her feet all the way up the aisle, resentment building like a fortification in her chest, and sat beside Dolohov, ignoring Tom who shot her a hateful glare, his captivating black eyes glittering with dangerous loathing.

"How was your weekend, Mudblood?" Antonin sneered, twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers.

Hermione angrily slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me," she hissed. Repulsed by the action, she shifted her chair several inches away from him.

She was relieved when Slughorn scurried into the classroom, chattering aimlessly to himself until he established himself at the front of the long classroom. He began instructing them on a blood-replenishing potion. Somewhat bored, Hermione placed her elbows on the desk in front of her and leaned forward. She had already learned how to make a blood-replenishing potion in her fourth year. She had experimented on her own with antidotes, and for the most part had been successful. This class was merely a refresher and she didn't have much mind to be 'refreshed'.

The class seemed to stretch on for an eternity and Hermione began to realize just how exhausted she really was. When the ever-studious Hermione Granger wasn't in the mood for school, something wasn't right in the world. Just as her eyes drifted closed a cool sensation of the top of her thigh made her force her eyes open again. It took her a moment to realize that the cool sensation creeping up her thigh was in fact cold fingertips. The intrusive fingertips slid beneath her skirt, towards her inner thighs. She gasped when a warm thumb pressed painfully into her panties, right over her core. When the haze in her mind cleared she lashed out with a vengeance, squeezing her thighs shut, feeling suddenly undignified and defiled.

She shoved the fingers out from beneath her skirt, pulling out her wand and shoving it under the lustful-looking Dolohov's aristocratic nose. Her eyes were alight with fury.

"How dare you!" she seethed in a raised whisper. She didn't want to disrupt the class, but Merlin be damned if she was going to let the greasy bastard sexually harass her.

Antonin's eyes sparkled desirously. "Don't be such a prude, Granger. I know you crave my touch. You must be fucking tight," he whispered, licking his thin lips.

Hermione choked back a vulgar insult. She would rise above Antonin's dirty remarks. "Touch me again, and I'll hex you, or better yet, I'll emasculate you," she vowed angrily, her fury evident in her cutting gaze.

Hermione and Antonin's little interaction went by unnoticed by Tom, of which Hermione was immensely relieved. She wouldn't be able to put up with both of their snide remarks. She sneered one last time at Antonin before turning her attention to Slughorn, now determined to keep awake. She held tightly to the edge of her desk, her knuckles turning white with repressed rage, as she forced herself to concentrate once more on the lesson at hand. She kept her legs crossed for the rest of the class.

Antonin was a downright pig and Hermione would see to it that he was put in his place. For the remainder of the class, Hermione pondered over how best to teach him a lesson. She figured the opportunity would soon present itself, be it a random meeting in the hallway or her seeking him out herself.

Slughorn dismissed the class and Hermione eagerly packed up her books and high-tailed it out of the dungeon classroom. She was keen on seeing Mark and telling him all about Dolohov's appalling behaviour. He'd know what to say to calm her down.

She found him in the Gryffindor common room reading a book on one of the cozy arm chairs, nestled under a red blanket beside the fire. A box of Kleenex leaned precariously on the arm of his chair. He greeted her with a warm smile and all of Hermione's anger towards Antonin dissipated.

She plopped down on the arm chair beside his, leaning her head against the back of it. She closed her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Mark grunted. "Like my head is about to implode on itself."

He began to cough something terrible. Hermione winced as he sniffled and quickly passed him a tissue. "You really should go see the nurse," Hermione urged.

Mark rolled his eyes and blew his nose. "How was Potions?" he asked, wisely changing the subject.

Hermione shrugged. Come to think of it, she didn't really want to talk about Dolohov's stupidity that morning. She'd much rather forget about it for the time being. Mind you, she figured, Mark would probably want to know what had happened. She decided to come clean to her friend, who by the end of her tale was fuming with anger.

Hermione almost fell out of her chair when Mark shot up to his feet and began storming towards the portrait hole. She quickly stumbled after him.

"Mark? Mark!"

He didn't reply to her as he marched out of the portrait hole and towards the staircases.

"What do you think you're doing?" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up, exasperated. "You are in no condition to go gallivanting through the castle," she chastised.

"I'm going to give that bastard, Dolohov, a taste of real justice," Mark declared.

Try as she might, Hermione could not deter him from his course. He was on a mission and he could not be swayed. Hermione almost groaned out loud when Antonin and Tom ideally rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, making Mark's mission that much easier. _Perfect. Just perfect_.

Mark nimbly whipped out his wand. "You greasy bastard," he seethed.

Antonin drew his own wand, sneering at Mark, while Tom stood just to his right, eyebrow raised with curiosity. Hermione recalled that he hadn't witnessed Antonin feeling her up during Potions class.

"Jealous that I went further with your girlfriend than you ever did?" taunted Antonin, twirling his wand cockily through his fingers.

"Shut up, Dolohov," Mark snapped, raising his wand. "You sicken me."

The clearing of a throat diverted the attention of both boys and Hermione. They all looked to Tom who was wearing an amused look. "May I inquire as to what the nature of the dispute between you two gentlemen is?"

Mark glared at Tom. "As if you don't already know," Mark hissed low and dangerous.

Hermione put a restraining hand on Mark's shoulder. "He doesn't know, Mark."

Mark looked at her for a moment before turning to Tom once more. "I have the mind to report your lap dog to Headmaster Dippet for sexual assault."

Tom's eyes narrowed, briefly passing over Hermione, before landing on Antonin. "What did you do now, Dolohov?" Tom demanded icily, a hint of distaste colouring his normally malicious tone.

Dolohov shrugged. "I was just being friendly," he mumbled, shrinking under Tom's disapproving gaze.

"If by friendly, you mean trying to finger Hermione," Mark sneered.

"I thought I told you not to touch her kind," Tom reproved, his aristocratic nose raised high in the air as he looked down it at Antonin.

Hermione's anger was swelling within her chest. First Antonin had assaulted her, then the Head Boy had censured him for touching 'her kind'. Tom was a pompous ass—conceited and prejudiced. Before any of the boys around her could so much as flinch, she had whipped out her wand.

"Stupefy!"

Hermione watched, feeling a sense of triumphant satisfaction build in her chest as the jet of light shot from her wand and impacted Antonin's chest, sending him sprawling across the floor, unconscious. _Serves him right_.

Tom and Mark fell silent as they looked upon a panting Hermione, her frizzy hair seeming to crackle with raw magic. She somehow knew, even without looking at him, that Tom wouldn't give her a detention for this blatant abuse of the rules. At least, she hoped he wouldn't. An offence like this would cost her any chance she had of being chosen to be Head Girl.

"Let's go, Mark," Hermione breathed, her voice carefully guarded. She took his hand and pulled him away from Tom and Antonin, who was now slowly reviving. Before they rounded the corner, Hermione glanced fleetingly over her shoulder. Tom had not moved from his place. His black eyes were carefully trained on her, evaluating her. A shiver coursed through her spine before she tore her gaze away.

* * *

Later that day, she and Mark found themselves in the library studying for a Transfiguration exam. Hermione had been unusually quiet since the incident involving Antonin and Tom.

"Are you okay?" Mark's gentle tone, prodded her for the truth.

She shrugged. "I'm just tired. The whole ordeal with Antonin is kind of weighing heavily on me, I suppose," she reasoned, turning a page in her large textbook.

The silence lingered for a bit before Mark spoke up once more. "I was just wondering if you've been hearing the rumours?" he asked casually.

Hermione looked up from her book, curious as to what he was referring to. "What rumours?"

Mark met her gaze with his fierce green eyes. "About why I haven't dated anyone for the past seven years."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up as she considered some of the rumours. She had always wondered. He was good looking, and beyond that he was one the sweetest guys at Hogwarts—kind, compassionate, intelligent, brave. Any girl would swoon at the sight of him.

Mark just chuckled. "Ah. So you have heard the scandalous gossip."

"It's really none of my business," she said quickly, averting her gaze.

Mark shrugged nonchalantly. "I suppose. Out of curiosity, what _are_ they saying about me? I love to hear a good rumour."

Hermione smirked, realizing that he wasn't resentful, but rather amused by the pettiness of his peers. "The most common theory?" she asked. Mark nodded. "Homosexual."

Mark laughed. "I thought as much."

When he didn't deny the rumour, Hermione quickly spoke up. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. Where I come from most people don't judge others based on their sexuality, but here…Well, people are more close-minded."

Mark nodded in assent. "So what do you think about that?"

Hermione, assuming he meant about him being a homosexual, was eager to make her acceptance for all types of sexuality known to him. "I'm not going to stop being your friend because you're a homosexual. There's absolutely nothing wrong with it. I think it's honourable that you're being true to who you are," she explained.

Silence followed her admission. She began to grow uncomfortable under Mark's scrutinizing gaze. He carefully folded his hands over the table and leaned forward.

"I'm not a homosexual."

Hermione's face turned even more red as the blood rushed to her cheeks. "Oh," she managed. "Then…"

"I've been dating the same girl for the past three years. Her name is Rebecca—Becca. She's amazing and I love her more than anything in the world. I know I'm going to marry her one day."

Hermione couldn't stop the smile that crosses her lips. She sighed. "That's very romantic. Does she go to Hogwarts?"

Mark shook his head, his radiant smile falling to a grim frown. "No. The reason I never told anyone about her is, well, for the obvious reason that it's no one's business, but, mostly because I thought it would be safer for her that way." Hermione tilted her head in a questioning gesture. "Becca's a muggle. And, well, you know how it is. Some people are really offended by couples like us. But I love her. I can't help it."

Hermione nodded. "It's very noble of you to be so loyal to her. And I understand your fears."

Mark nodded, appreciative of her acceptance. "It feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest. I've always wanted to share my story with someone, but I never trusted anyone enough to keep it to themselves. But I know I can trust you, Hermione."

Those words reverberated in her mind and she realized that, just as Mark needed someone to share his story with, so did she. She felt like the weight of the world was crushing her beneath it. She was suffocating and there was no one to call out for help to. She needed to alleviate some of the pressure. If she wasn't careful, her secret would kill her before she had a chance to make a significant change in the world.

She looked straight at Mark then, suddenly resigned to sharing her story with him. "Are you busy for the rest of the night?" she asked, her voice low and cautious.

Mark, detecting her change of demeanour shook his head. "No. Why?"

"I've been keeping a secret, and I think it's time to come clean."

* * *

TPOV:

Tom had ignored Antonin for the remainder of the day, disgusted by his companion's behaviour. The snivelling idiot had tried to finger Granger. The last thing he needed to do was have to risk his reputation by getting involved with a sex offender as an associate—for Antonin was no friend of his, none of his companions were. He was Tom Marvolo Riddle and he would never have friends. Having friends would be the bane of his existence. He didn't have the patience, nor the compassion to concern himself with others' problems by pretending he gave a rat's arse. No. Tom knew he could never care enough for another human being to consider them more than an associate or acquaintance. The less involvement of other's in his life, the less drama, the less problems to possibly arise.

He was just beginning his rounds when he sharply turned a corner and collided with another body, one that was much smaller than his own six foot figure. He instinctively grabbed the individual's bicep, holding them steady. He looked down and narrowed his eyes at Hermione Granger. She looked somewhat frantic. Her unruly hair was unusually limp; her normally straight shoulders slumped forward in defeat. Most remarkably, though, were her large chocolate eyes, ordinarily wide and full of vitality were currently red-rimmed and swollen from shed tears.

Something about her countenance said defeat. It would be so easy for him to tear her morale apart given her current mood, but something about her watery doe eyes, gazing up at him with dimmed vivacity made him hesitate. He wasn't used to her like this, all helpless and vulnerable. Tom was not a man moved by tears, but Hermione Granger's tears were different today. He didn't know what was going on in her mind, but he recognized her expression as, not one of a homesick girl, but one of a woman resigned to an unfavourable fate.

"Let go."

Her soft, quavering voice jarred him from his thoughts and he gingerly released her arm from his cool grasp. "It's eleven fifteen, which translates to past your bedtime," he sneered, trying to recover his moment of weakness. He couldn't allow himself to consider the girl as even human. She was a worthless Mudblood. He would have nothing to do with her aside from breaking her spirit and wheedling the truth of her circumstances out of her—those plans did not include delving into her personal anguish. That was no concern of his.

"Honestly, Riddle," she sighed, glaring at him, some of her energy returning. "Just give me a detention. I'm tired. It's been a long day. And frankly, I'd be content to sleep for the remainder of my life."

Tom narrowed his eyes at her. He could give her a detention. He should give her a detention. He had every right to. It was a quarter past the hour of curfew. In fact, he should have given her one for her stunt earlier that day.

"What Antonin did to you today was tactless." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He mentally strangled himself. The sentiment of compassion was foreign to him. It was a quality he prided himself for not possessing. His compassionate admission left a sour taste on his tongue. To achieve the greatness he was striving for, compassion was only a sign of weakness. Why he had uttered that cursed sentence was beyond him.

A silence descended between them. It was so thick that he was convinced he could rip it in two with his bare hands.

"What did you say?" she asked, her eyes widening with confusion.

Tom glared at her. "Are you deaf, Mudblood?" he leered. "You're so pathetic. Wandering the castle at night and crying like a little school girl who's had her ponytail tugged by her peers is very unbecoming. Honestly, have a little dignity."

Tom leaned back on his heels, proud of his cover up. He contributed his lack of menace to his lack of sleep. Lately he'd been up at night with thousands of thoughts milling about his mind. There was so much weighing down on him. He felt for certain that if he didn't start dealing with certain issues, like soul-splitting, that he may very well resign his existence.

Hermione's eyes narrowed as tears welled in the corners of her eyes. He could tell that she was trying to suppress them. "You're so callous, Tom. Every time you lead me to believe that there's an ounce of goodness in you, you do a complete change of character and become the forbidding man we all know you to be," she accused.

Tom focused on the girl's trembling bottom lip. He watched, intrigued, as she bit the fat lip between her white teeth. His stomach did a small flip, and he quickly averted his gaze to her face. "Does that come as a surprise, Granger?"

Hermione breathed sharply. "I know there's good in you Tom," she declared, her shoulders straightening out of their slump.

Tom leaned his face towards hers, causing the brunette to recoil in surprise. "There is no good in me, Granger. My heart burns with flames of detestation for inferiors like you," he sneered, his heavy breath caused the wisps of hair framing her heart-shaped face to flutter slightly.

Hermione stared straight into his eyes, their interaction seeming to wear on. Tom was still baffled for a long while after what transpired next. Granger raised her slender-fingered hand between them and placed it daintily on his chest. She pressed her warm palm against his chest until he felt a push. He wanted to step away from the girl, to push away her intruding hand that she so daringly assumed she could touch him with, but he couldn't. He was rendered immobile—utterly stunned.

"If I'm not mistaken that is a heartbeat I feel," she said quietly, looking away from his eyes to her hand where it lay on his chest. She then, with her other hand took his left hand. Coming to his senses, he tried to pull it out of her firm grasp, but the damned girl held fast and flattened his palm over her own chest.

His eyes widened in horror and bewilderment. He felt light-headed. How was this woman possibly doing this to him? He was stronger than her and yet here he was, standing like some incompetent fool, his actions at the mercy of her will.

"Do you feel it?" she whispered.

Tom was confused and was finally about to yank his hand away when he 'felt' it—her heartbeat—steady and alive beneath her skin. He felt his knees grow weak. Why did he feel connected to her in that instant, feeling one another's heartbeats? The whole situation felt so ridiculous to him, yet somehow more profound than any inspiring verse of poetry he had ever read.

"Don't deny your humanity, Tom. Give your heart a chance. Your mind is lost to cold reason. Only your heart can melt your steely resolve."

With that she released his hand, her own hand falling from his chest. She quietly walked away. He felt empty all of a sudden, their connection rudely severed without as much as a warning. Her retreating footsteps echoed through the empty corridor just as her words echoed through his mind, breaching the walls of his resolved mind, and appealing to his heart.

Her words haunted him as he finished his rounds that night. Their meeting and Hermione's behaviour seemed so surreal that he found himself doubting that any of it had really happened. It was easy enough for him to shake away any doubt her little speech had implanted in his mind—perhaps too easy, after all. Maybe after all these years the logic behind resigning himself to a future where he would fight the wizarding world to see the end of impure blooded witches and wizards was unsound.

_Of course not_, he chided himself. _Don't be ridiculous_. But try as he might, he could still see his hand covered by hers over her heart. He could still feel the burning imprint of her hand over his heart.

* * *

Well, there you have it. Chapter 6! I hope you all enjoyed it. So, what is up with Tom being so soft? His profound interaction with Hermione really took a toll on him. Have the seeds of doubt finally been planted in his mind? Don't worry, it gets better—I mean worse—it depends on how you interpret Tom's wickedness… I love the word wicked, don't you. I find it quite sexy :P

I know it was shorter than what you're all probably used to, but I didn't want to add pointless story line to it. I wanted to end it on a powerful note. Let me know what you think!

Ink

xo


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